


Endless Road to Rediscover

by esama



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: Do not repost, Don't copy to another site, Family, M/M, Reincarnation, Sibling Bonding, Time Travel, kind of
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-02-04
Packaged: 2019-10-19 11:31:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17600522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/esama/pseuds/esama
Summary: "Well," Desmond says. "I'm game. I mean, time travel, not dying, Renaissance Italy – I am so on board with all of it."





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Proofread by Nimadge, many thanks

"And so you have died. I told you not to touch the pedestal."

"Yeah, well. With seven billion people still around and kicking, maybe one of them will be up to kicking Juno's ass. I like those chances better than Sun burning everything off the surface of the Earth. Call me naïve, but I think people got a fair shot at it."

Minerva presses her lips together and folds her arms, but she doesn't argue. Desmond sends her a smile and shrugs his shoulders. He's not sorry. He's not even particularly sad about the dying part – that one he kind of saw coming a mile away and months ago. Getting to _mostly_ choose the way he went out, that wasn't so bad. And hey, he saved the world from a Solar Flare. Not many dead guys could say the same.

"So," Desmond says and looks around them. Everything is sorta… grey here. Wherever here is. "What happens next?"

"Do you expect an afterlife?" Minerva asks, sounding a bit impatient.

"Honestly didn't expect anything – but here we are. And I'm pretty sure I'm dead, except," Desmond motions around them. "Here I am. So something's up, right?"

Minerva doesn't answer immediately. She seems annoyed. Probably is. It's kind of hard to say how _here_ she is, though – is she still talking through the tens of thousands of years in between, or is she here in that AI form Juno had taken, or if this really is an afterlife and she's a ghost. She doesn't seem any more or less solid than she was as a hologram.

Neither is Desmond, really. Looking at his own hands, he's kind of… transparent.

Minerva turns away from him and sighs. "So long I have worked," she says. "Thousands of years now – you are so young in comparison. Humans age faster, but to me you are still a child," she chuckles. "I have led a child to his death."

"Nice, thanks, that's not condescending at all," Desmond comments, arching a brow at her. "I chose my way to go in the end. I could've not activated the Eye."

Minerva shakes her head. "Could you really?" she asks. "Even as I told you not to, I knew it was the only thing you would ever do. That is why I chose you, Desmond – that is how I _made_ you. You are as I designed you – a man who will always sacrifice himself for the world. For hundreds of years I have quietly been steering your lineage towards you, from eons before the concept of Assassins was even thought up, I planted seeds of you in your ancestors. There was never another choice for you."

Desmond gives her a look. "Well dang," he says.

Minerva gives him a confused look.

"I never got to make any grandiose statements about being the Chosen One," Desmond says and snaps his fingers disappointedly. "I didn't even get an epic sword or anything. What a bummer. Well, the Prophecy was a nice touch, I guess."

"You are not mad," Minerva says, confused.

"I'm dead," Desmond points out. "I have moved Beyond such Earthly concerns."

For a moment the woman, the supposed Goddess, just stares at him, looking positively bewildered. Then, shaking her head, she smiles. "I chose well," she says and turns away. "But oh, the mistakes I made. I should have warned you, I should have taught you. Shown you what might be – I should have –"

"Designed the Eye in a way that it _didn't_ instantly kill me, that would've been nice," Desmond says and shrugs again. "Could've, should've, would've – but did not. What I'm more interested is _where we are now_ , especially seeing that I just _died_ … and what happens next. What is this?" he asks and motions around them.

Minerva looks around them. "It is the Grey," she says and waves a hand. In the wake of her fingers, the surface of the space around them ripples. "It is the canvas which the universe paints upon – and where it cleans its brushes."

"Okay, that's… descriptive, but tells me nothing," Desmond says flatly.

"Your language is limited," Minerva says and thinks about it for a moment. "I told you there is a pattern to existence. This, this place, this space, is where the Calculations present themselves. This place is the process that results in the universe. From the first spark to the final withering, all of time reflects here – if you can understand the calculation, you can divine the universe from the first variables to the final result."

Desmond frowns. "This is time?"

"No – it is everything," Minerva says. "The Grey is… it is the code that runs in the background of the simulation that is the universe."

"The… universe is a simulation?" Desmond asks incredulously.

"… no," Minerva says flatly. "But there is code to it, nonetheless. Here you can read it, and if you read it well enough… you can see into the future of it."

Desmond blinks at her and then at the grey space around them. It doesn't look like… Calculation to him. Mostly it just looks like grey fog. "Yeah, I don't get it, but I'll take your word for it. Why am I here?"

Minerva doesn't answer for a moment, taking a couple of barefooted steps forward and then back. For a woman dead for seventy five thousand years, she's restless. "You are not here," she says then and looks at her own transparent hands. "No more than am I. We are observing. The Eye has opened your sight – and with the sight comes presence. You are merely viewing the Calculations, as am I. You are not here."

"Okay, where the hell am I then?" Desmond asks.

Minerva shakes her head. "You are dead."

Desmond looks at her for a moment, in all of her transparent glowing glory. "Okay, help me out here," he says. "Because this is making zero sense to me. I'm dead, but I'm here because I'm… watching this place? What the hell. Am I dead or not?"

"Yes," Minerva says.

"… I want to throw something at you so badly right now," Desmond says flatly. "Make sense, for fuck's sake. Or I am going to take my shoe off and throw it at you. Don't think I won't."

Minerva chuckles and ducks her chin slightly. "It will not make a difference – we are not here, and neither is your shoe."

"Right, the shoe it is," Desmond says determinedly and plops down to sit on his ass on – nothing, really – to get his shoe off. Minerva laughs at that, actually going to cover her mouth with her hand to stifle it. She's almost _giggling_ at him.

"You are a delight, Desmond," she says. "But I mean what I say. You are dead and not – you are here and not. You are the final gasp of your mind, the final glimpse you had before your last breath. Your Eyes were opened, and you saw," she motions around them. "And you are still Seeing. And when you look away… you will be gone."

Desmond stops in the act of pulling his transparent sneaker off his transparent foot. "So I'm, what… a Schrödinger's Desmond? Alive until otherwise observed?"

Minerva chuckles. "Yes," she agrees and steps closer to him, crouching in front of him. "Time does not move here – time is not a dimension that exists here. The Grey merely is, and it is everywhere. Everything is here and nothing is here," she says and leans her chin on her palm. "You are here and you are not – I am here, and I am not. This place exists and it does not."

For a moment Desmond mulls over that thought. It still only barely makes sense to him, but he thinks he gets it. "So, as soon as this… stops, I'm going to be _dead_ dead," he says and lets his foot drop to the not-floor under him. "Well, that sucks."

Minerva doesn't say anything, watching him sadly.

"I don't wanna die," Desmond comments.

"Neither do I," Minerva admits and looks down. "My time is coming. Yours has already come."

"Nothing we can do, huh?" Desmond asks and frowns. "Why is it that Juno got all the extra time she did? How's that fair?"

"I'm afraid the universe is not fair – it is only factual," Minerva says and then considers it for a moment. "She imprinted herself upon the Grand Temple, folding her consciousness within it. What remains of her is only her mind – her body is gone, long gone…"

"Yeah, I'm sticking with unfair," Desmond says and then frowns.

Minerva looks at him, arching her brows slightly. "What?" she asks softly.

"Our minds aren't gone," Desmond points out.

"The Grand Temple will be out of power, and she would not leave it open for use or occupation," Minerva says. "It cannot hold another mind."

"Yeah, but," Desmond frowns, looking away.  "Does it have to be the Temple? Aren't there others, aren't there… isn't there a way we can…" he trails away.

Minerva considers him and then stands. "I have – thought of it," she admits, walking around him. "Time is a book I am reading, and I know I can write upon it. I already have – I wrote you into existence," she says. "I could do other things, and take place in linear time once more. But to do so would mean to lose the perspective I have – to lose this advantage."

Desmond arches his brows and then stands up, rocking on the balls of his feet. "You're going to die, though. I am already dead. And according to you I already fucked up," he points out. "What's the worst thing that could happen?"

"No one will be here when the time comes to activate the Eye," Minerva says flatly. "And the Earth will burn."

For a moment Desmond just stares at her. "But that already happened?" he then asks, uneasy.

"From your perspective, yes. Not from mine," she says. "I yet live, many eons before you. We are speaking through time, Desmond. The thousands of years between us are open."

"… okay," Desmond says, blinking. "So time travel is a thing now. _Neat_."

"It was always a _thing_ ," Minerva says and sighs. "But as I said, to partake in it would be to lose this perspective. To see into the Grey requires the Grand Temple at its height of power – back when I was managing it… and when you activated it," she shakes her head. "Take a step from the pedestal, and it will all be gone."

"And so will we," Desmond says. "But we're not, not yet. So we could – we could still live? Somehow?"

"In what form, in what bodies?" Minerva wonders. "Mine will be dust in the wind – yours not yet a concept."

"You have an actual time period in mind, don't you?" Desmond asks, giving her a look. "You know precisely where you would go, which time?"

Minerva gives him a look. "It is the same time period you are thinking of, Desmond," she says pointedly. "The moment when everything changed."

"Ezio's time," Desmond says.

"If things are to be changed – if Juno is to be stopped, it will begin there," she says. "With Ezio, with the Borgia, with the Templars. And with the Apple."

Desmond frowns, confused. "But – you arranged that, all of it. The Vault under the Vatican, the message – the _Prophecy_ –"

"Yes," Minerva agrees and sighs. "My plan there worked, yes – but Juno saw them too, and she used them. The Prophet eventually went to her and was manipulated by her – and through him, you," she casts a look at Desmond. "Juno only found you because of the message I left you, because the Prophet heard your name – because I spoke to you."

"But… if you didn't, I wouldn't have known about the Solar Flare," Desmond points out.

Minerva draws breath and sighs, her hands hanging limply at her sides. "Yes," she agrees. "I perceived it to be the only way, but now I know how easily future changes. But if there is a place to cut her off, it will be there – it will be with the Prophet and the message."

Desmond eyes her quietly for a moment as she takes slow steps around him, lost in her thoughts and regrets. "Well," Desmond says. "I'm game. I mean, time travel, not dying, Renaissance Italy – I am so on board with all of it."

Minerva gives him a wry look. "You think it so simple," she comments. "You child."

"First of all, rude," Desmond says and points a finger at her. "Second of all… maybe it isn't that simple. But is it _possible_?"

Minerva opens her mouth and then closes it, frowning. She takes couple steps forward and then couple steps back. "Yes," she says. "It is possible. But the matter of form remains," she adds and turns to him. "You are gone and so will I be soon. We are formless, and to effect any change upon the world, we need forms. We need lives."

Desmond eyes her searchingly. "So, no yanking our bodies off the timeline and dropping them where we need them, huh?"

"Would that it was possible. It is not," Minerva says. "But by using Juno's method I may transplant us into bodies not our own."

"In… bodies of other people," Desmond asks, just to make sure. He's pretty sure that's what she means anyway, it's not like Renaissance Italy has the internet for them to inhabit. "What would happen to the people we inhabit?"

"Their minds would die," Minerva says. "And only you and I would remain in their bodies."

"Huh," Desmond says.

"As an Assassin, you cannot possibly have qualms about it."

"I _do_ , actually," Desmond says, giving her a look. "I don't want to just… kill someone and take their place. How fucked up is that?"

"Then we will die," Minerva says calmly. "And that will be the end of us."

"Oh for Christ's sake…" Desmond sighs and runs a hand over his face. Really not what he expected afterlife to be like. "Fine – but I draw a line on the blood of innocents. We're not going to take over just anyone, it has to be someone _who fucking deserves it_."

"Someone like a Templar?" Minerva asks coolly and lifts her hands. "I thought as much. These are our best options."

Into the air above her hands appear images – two sets of men over both palms. All of them Templars – all dead by Ezio's hands. Over one hand she has Francesco and Vieri de Pazzi – over the other she has… the Orsi brothers? Desmond just barely even remembers them, but yeah, that's who they were, Ludovico and Checco Orsi, the little shits who besieged Forli and stole Caterina's kids.

"Oh, ew," Desmond says, making a face. The idea of inhabiting the bodies of the Pazzi kinda turns his stomach.

"These men make sense – and they are quite guilty," Minerva points out. "They have usable resources and means which we can use to our advantage. Never mind close ties to the Templars, which we may exploit. The Pazzi," she lifts that hand. "Are even in place for us to prevent the deaths of the Prophet's family. This, I think, would interest you."

"I think I just threw up in my mouth a little," Desmond answers.

Minerva gives him a look. "That is impossible, you do not have a stomach."

"And yet, there's taste of bile on my tongue," Desmond says and makes a face. "Taking over the bodies of the Pazzi, seriously? Could you really live like that? Besides, these are all men – doesn't that bother you, at all?"

Minerva harrumphs. "I do not want to merely live, Desmond, I want to change the future," she says. "I care not about the sex of the body – it is inconsequential to me. It will not be my body, either way."

"Even if you will be _living_ in it, for who knows how long?" Desmond asks pointedly.

"Even at its longest, human lifespan is nothing but a moment in the life of an Isu," Minerva says and smiles a little. "I have lived for thousands of years. Whichever of these men I will inhabit, it will not affect my sense of self one way or the other. I will live as one of them and die soon after as myself. The body will matter little."

Desmond looks at her and then at the faces floating over her hands. "That's sad," he decides. "You, living the last of your life in human body."

"I am already living the last of my life. This will prolong it," Minerva admits. "Which I am not opposed to. From my viewpoint I see some of the future – I see you, and the Prophet, and your effect upon the world. But I cannot see the things humans have built. Their cities, their homes… their lives…" she trails away. "I would like to see how you rebuild society after our destruction."

"Even though it took us literally seventy five thousand years?" Desmond asks wryly. "It'll probably not look all that impressive to you."

Minerva shrugs, obviously copying him. "It is as it is," she says and holds her hands up. "Now, choose."

Desmond looks between the Pazzi – _eurgh_ – and the Orsi. The Orsi were… well, they were little shits, from what he remembers, but the Pazzi conspiracy _killed Ezio's father and brothers…_ As much as he wants to change that if possible, the idea of entering the bodies of the people integral to that turns his nonexistent stomach. He does not want to live out the rest of his – whatever, _existence_ , as a _Pazzi_.

But he does want to save Ezio's family if possible… and as Pazzi, he could do that.

"We can still do it as the Orsi," Minerva points out and arches her brow. "These people did exist before the Prophet met and came to know them. In truth, the further back in their timeline we go, the better."

"Yeah?" Desmond asks warily.

Minerva gives him a look. "Otherwise we would have to pretend more," she points out. "The younger these individuals are when we take them over, the better. In that, the Orsi are more fitting – they are not as far apart as the Pazzi, in age. We could come to the same moment, rather than years apart."

"... and neither of us would have to take over Francesco's marriage to Vieri's mother," Desmond adds, making a face. "I mean, if we went with them, and one of us took over Francesco, then… Vieri would have to be _made…_ " and, yeesh, that's… _Ew_.

Minerva seems amused at that. "It is decided, then," she says, closing her fingers over the image of the Pazzi, extinguishing it, and lifting the image of the Orsi brothers with the other. "We shall take over the lives and bodies of Ludovico and Checco Orsi."

Desmond looks between the two brothers. Both have dark hair that reaches their collars, both are sort of pallid looking in the grey light – both look vaguely smarmy, in that _aristocratic_ way. Neither of them look much like him, so it probably doesn't really matter, but… "Dibs on the better looking one," he says quickly anyway.

Minerva throws her head back and laughs.


	2. Chapter 2

Checco and Ludovico Orsi. Honestly, Desmond doesn't remember much anything about them – just that they were annoying and Caterina flashed her panties at them in one of the most glorious fuck-yous Desmond has ever seen. There was something on Shaun's PowerPoint presentations that said about them being rich and bored? And Caterina had hired them to kill her Templar husband. Templars killing Templars. Isn't that a twist.

As villains in Ezio's life went, they weren't all that memorable, really, more an annoyance. Desmond had mostly been just impatient to get it over with and kill the little shits, when they'd rolled around in Ezio's memories. He'd just gotten the Apple, and now this crap? Yeah, they hadn't made much of an impression on him.

Whether that's a good or a bad thing is left to be seen.

Desmond wakes up in the body of an Orsi kid – which one, he isn't sure yet, but it's got to be one of them. It's a young body, maybe eight to ten, still all sorts of chubby with baby fat. Or who knows, actual fat. And then there's the room – fancy, with a four poster bed and everything, all with that Renaissance flair. Plus, he wakes up in what he thinks first is a dress – but which turns out to be a sleeping gown thing. It makes him stumble over his feet either way when he gets up.

The room is really fancy. Ottoman carpets, paintings of sceneries with dogs and cats on the walls, heavy curtains over the only window. Peeking out through them, Desmond sees it's still dark out. Which means it's late – or early – enough for snooping. Which is what he does, tiptoeing his way to the heavy wooden door and opening it slowly.

Of course the Orsi live in a mansion of some kind. Or a villa, anyway. The hall is as grandiose as the room, with high ceiling and paintings on painted walls and –

The door next to the room Desmond had woken up in is thrown open, and an alarmed looking child stumbles out, wearing a similar dress-like nightgown Desmond is wearing. This kid is younger than him, good head's worth shorter, with wavy black hair and wide eyes.

"Desmond," he hisses. "There is an _animal_ on my bed!"

Desmond blinks. The voice is that of a young boy, but... "Hi, Minerva, nice to see you, your looking particularly –" he searched for word, "alive and physical. I see we both made it –"

"I woke up next to an _animal_ ," Minerva grits through the milk teeth of the baby Orsi – she'd chosen the younger of the two brothers, apparently. "There is an _animal_ in my _room,_ in this _child's_ _room!_ And it's a predator!"

Desmond shakes his head, confused. "Okay, let's have a look?"

Minerva, obviously thinking he's not taking the threat seriously, grabs him by the wrist and then propels him into her room. It's a lot like the one Desmond came from, four poster bed an all, and on the said bed there is indeed an animal.

"Minerva, that's a puppy," Desmond says flatly.

"I know it's is a pup!" Minerva says, glaring at the fluffy, sleepily confused puppy on her bed. "Who puts the young of a wolf into the bed with a human child?!"

Desmond eyes her dubiously. "It's a dog," he says slowly.

Minerva glares at him. "It's some form of a _wolf._ "

"You – know that humans domesticated wolves and turned them into dogs, right?" Desmond asks, even slower.

Minerva frowns, looking confused for a moment and then shaking her head in denial. "People of this time do not have such technology. Even in your time understanding of genetics was in its infancy."

Desmond just states at her. "Um – you know what domestication is, right?" He asks slowly. "You know, taking creatures, breeding them for desired traits? Tens of thousands of years ago probably, some hunter-gatherer tamed a wolf and then that wolf had pups with another tame wolf to produce more tameable pups, and so on and so on for a few thousand generations, and you get this."

He walks over to Minerva's – or rather, Checco's bed, and picks up the sleepy puppy. It's white and fuzzy and probably wouldn't grow up to be very big. "Aren't you the cutest ferocious predator ever," Desmond coos with delight. He's more of a cat person really, but – who can resist a cute puppy? "I can't believe you got scared by a puppy – look at this thing. It's tiny!"

"I don't understand," Minerva admits, scowling in confusion.

"It's a pet, Minerva," Desmond explains. "Probably given to Checco to play with and to keep him company. It's cute and cuddly and maybe one day when you throw a stick it might fetch it for you."

"And humans made it?" Minerva questions dubiously.

"Over a lot of time, by selectively breeding its ancestors, yes," Desmond says and gives her a look. "Shouldn't be such a foreign concept to you. How can you not know about domesticated animals?"

"Do you mean to say humans have domesticated more than wolves?" Minerva demands.

Desmond stares at her. "You can see into the future and you don't know about animal husbandry? Didn't the Isu domesticate animals?"

She looks a little affronted by the notion. "To _what end_?"

"Um – to use for work? Horses and cows and oxen to plough fields, to carry heavier loads than people can – for eating? Dogs to help us hunt and protect our shit – cats to control pests?" Desmond offers.

Minerva just looks vaguely disturbed.

"Man, you are not ready to learn about hamsters. The Isu didn't do animal domestication? At all?" Desmond asks while scratching the puppy's ears.

She gives him a look. "We did not need to – if we required a creature to use, we could make one. And the one time we succeed the best ended up quite disastrous in long term."

Desmond arches his brows at her. "That's – disturbing and weird. You had no pets at all?"

Minerva folds her arms. "We did not have need for them," she mutters. "I knew humans kept animals for food, you are omnivores, but – in your _beds_?"

"But – look at it," Desmond says and holds the puppy out. "It's cute!"

"It is an animal," Minerva says. "And quite possibly covered in bacteria."

"You actual hypochondriac," Desmond says incredulously. "How can you not like puppies?"

Minerva just looks uncomfortable and vaguely put-upon. "So this creature is intended for – companionship?"

"Well, yeah. Which is why he was sleeping in your bed, before you rudely woke him – her," Desmond amend, checking the puppy's sex. "She was keeping Checco company. Kids and dogs are like a thing – give kid a dog to keep them company, teach them responsibility and stuff. Since, you know, the dog had to be fed and taken outside and stuff."

"Taken outside?" Minerva demands.

"Yeah, to do her business," Desmond explains. When Minerva doesn't get it, he sighs. "Dogs gotta piss and shit too, Minerva, and people generally don't want that done indoors."

"That is disgusting," Minerva says flatly.

"That's just biology, no need to be rude," Desmond says and cuddles the puppy. "You'll hurt her feelings."

Minerva scoffs, though she's starting to look a little less alarmed by the puppy, so that's something.

"So, I'm Ludovico," Desmond says while hopping to sit on Checco's bed. "Right? And you're Checco. You made me your older brother, you realise."

"You wished to be the better looking one," Minerva comments.

"And you thought that's Ludovico? Did you see his nose?"

Minerva waves a dismissed hand. "All humans look the same to me," she admits. "But you yourself thought Checco looked _smarmy and pudgy._ "

"Wow, speciest much?" Desmond asks, giving her a look. "We do not look all the same. Rude."

Minerva shrugs. "It matters little," she says and comes to sit next to him. "How are you finding your body?"

"I just got into it, haven't exactly taken that close a look," Desmond admits and shrugs. "Seems to work fine. You?"

Minerva looks at her hand. "It is very soft."

"It's a pudgy little kid – they tend to be squishy," Desmond agrees. "And I think these kids are probably a bit pampered, hence the," he pinched at his waist, "extra squishiness. Something we're gonna have to work on, I guess."

Minerva hums in agreement. "And it takes approximately twenty years for a human to grow into adulthood," she muses. "This seems quite simple."

"Probably not that long, since we're already in a puppy adopting age. How long did it take Isu?

"Sixty years," Minerva admits. "And hundred more for all the necessary learning."

"Goddamn. That's impressive. And horrifying."

"We lived much longer lives," Minerva says dismissively. "It was only a small portion of our lifespans."

"Now you're just rubbing it in," Desmond says and drops down from the bed. It's weird, being so small. "I was gonna investigate this place – you wanna come with?"

"Certainly," she agrees and follows. "We should familiarise ourselves with the environment."

"Yep, snooping is absolutely vital," Desmond agrees. "You wanna hold the dog?"

"Absolutely not."

* * *

 

It's a countryside villa, nowhere near as big or impressive as the Auditore Villa in Monteriggioni, but quite lovely otherwise. Two floors, an impressive dining room – no art gallery or armoury, but there is a small library. There is also a beautiful well-kept garden around the Orsi Villa, with flower arrangements and lawns.

It's the garden that takes Minerva's breath.

"It's beautiful," she says, sounding almost surprised.

"No need to sound so shocked," Desmond snorts. "Renaissance people knew their aesthetics and these kids come from a rich family. Of course it's fancy."

"It is – it is so alive in here," she says in marvel and walks under a canopy of vines, Desmond following with the puppy fast asleep in his arms. For a long while Minerva just stares at the leaves in wonder, reaching out to touch them.

"Here's hoping it's not poison ivy," Desmond comments.

Minerva ignores him. "I have not seen this many plants in thousands of years," she whispers. "Look how green everything is!"

Desmond blinks and then, oh, he gets it. "You – right, you come from the post-Flare time," he says, a little subdued.

"There was so little left," Minerva says, examining the leaves. "We grew what we could, replanted some of what was lost, recreated the DNA of what went extinct, but – the topsoil was scorched. Everything grew with such difficulty. This is _beautiful_."

"Take your time then," Desmond says and sits down on the grass under the arches where the vine grows. It's beginning lighten up, sun starting to finally rise. Behind them, the villa is starting to wake up.

"We should probably try and figure out what we're doing about the parents," Desmond comments. "And the whole blending in with the society thing."

"We are children. Who cares if children behave strangely?" Minerva asks. "They are strange by nature."

"Um, the parents might care and notice?" Desmond offers.

Minerva gives him an amused look. On Checco's pudgy face it looks just smug and obnoxious. "And think what, do what? The notion that people of this time might suspect anything like the truth is rather unlikely, don't you agree?"

"Yeah, but considering the time, diagnosing strangely behaving children with demonic possession and ordering exorcism isn't entirely out of question."

Minerva frowns. "Oh," she says.

Desmond arches his brows. "Yeah, oh," he agrees. "So we gotta come up with something – and acting like this you are not gonna pass for a human child."

Minerva frowns, and while she's thinking about it, the door to the garden is thrown open and a panicked looking woman falls through it, looking around frantically until she spots them. "Ludovico! And Checco – what are you doing outside at this hour and in your _nightclothes_ – stand up, Ludovico, you'll get dirt on your nightgown –"

Desmond stumbles up to his feet quickly, while Minerva looks vaguely alarmed. The woman – their mother? – marches over to them, looking first relieved and then furious. "Do _not_ leave the house without notifying someone first – especially at night! What were you thinking?"

Desmond opens his mouth to start, but obviously the woman isn't expecting an answer – or she's expecting him to talk back and is not having it. "Ludovico, give Checco back his dog. We've been over this – it is not yours, it is _Checco's_ dog. Now be a good boy and give it back."

"I do not want it," Minerva says quickly. "He can keep it."

"Do not listen to what he says, Checco," the woman says firmly. "The dog is yours, your mother bought him for you and she made it explicitly clear that Ludovico wasn't to take it. Now give the dog back, Ludovico – _nicely._ "

Imagining that there had probably been spoiled screaming matches over the dog, Desmond holds the puppy out to Minerva giving her the best _be nice OR ELSE_ look he can muster. She looks kind of uncomfortable, accepting the dog, but she does take it and even holds it to her chest carefully, looking to Desmond for guidance.

"Good," the woman – who Desmond thinks might be a nanny or something – says with satisfaction. Then she takes Desmond by the ear and Minerva by the shoulder and starts ushering them inside. "Inside, this instant, and back to bed – and you'll stay in your rooms until I come get your, or do help me god I will have both of your over my knee – yes, you too, Checco. Do _not_ be like your brother."

Desmond winces at the pinch of his ear and then grins. So, he's the unruly older brother then? The terrible influence one. Or possibly the bitchy whiny sort who missed being the only child and hates the little brother for stealing all the attention. Nice.

Minerva is giving him a horrified look as Desmond is unceremoniously shoved back into his room. Desmond gives her a little wave while the nanny orders him back to bed and then the door is shut between them. He's honestly a little surprised it's not outright locked.

Desmond takes a moment to consider the room, but outside some toys there isn't much there to interest him and he doesn't feel any particular hurry to escape, so…. He goes to bed.

Half an hour later, after the nanny had gone, hopefully to bed also, Minerva sneaks into his room and releases the puppy in it.

"It smells," she complains quietly.

Desmond examines the dog and gives it a couple of sniffs – which makes the puppy's little tail wag excitedly. "It smells like a puppy," he reports.

"Like an animal," Minerva mutters, rubbing her hands on her nightgown. "The woman tucked me into bed with the dog in it. I do not understand humans. It's an animal!"

"It's a _puppy_ – and I'm gonna get shouted at if you leave it here," Desmond comments, giving the poor pupper scratches. "I take it Isu don't do much in a way of pack bonding."

"Excuse me?"

Desmond holds up the puppy. "Look at her big sad puppy eyes – don't you want to protect her from the big bad world and cherish her forever and give her treats and belly rubs?"

Minerva just looks like she thinks he's insane.

"Yeah, okay, I think I see why you didn't do animal domestication," Desmond says with a sigh. "It never did make much sense to me that your people just made another race of sentient people to be your slaves, but damn – you just don't do much empathy, huh?"

Minerva's blows out a breath and then comes to his bedside. "Humans are very social creatures, I know – you get it from your ancestors. It's why we chose you for the genetic alterations, your family hierarchy made you easier to control," she admits. "Isu do not have that – we evolved from more… solitary ancestry."

"Uh-huh," Desmond answers. "Way to make me feel like cattle."

"It is only the truth. Your family hierarchy and… _pack bonding_ made you powerful in other ways. You naturally formed societies and groups like nothing we had," Minerva admits. "You followed your leaders for loyalty, not for reason or logic, and you – felt for each other. It's what I admired about your ancestors – why I chose you. An Isu would not do what you did. It is not within our nature."

Desmond eyes her for a moment. "Huh," he says then.

With how old Minerva is and how she talks and behaves, it's not like he ever looked at her and thought _yeah, she's basically human._ But for some reason he'd never considered that there might be fundamental racial difference there, not just in how old and genetically different her people where, but in how they just… thought and felt. How ironic it is, that a race of emotionally stunted empathy deficient people had actual psychic empath abilities, huh?

Though, on the other hand… maybe it developed out of necessity, the psychic sixth sense. Without natural instinct of family and pack bonding and all that came with them, like simple emotional understanding of _empathy…_ how can you even tell friends from foes?

Apparently you develop psychic abilities to compensate.

"Well," Desmond says and holds the dog out to Minerva. "Fluffy helpless things with big expressive eyes are cute and should be protected. Repeat after me, this dog is cute."

Minerva gives him an incredulous look. Then she looks at the dog. "It's an animal."

"I know. She's a cute, an absolutely _adorable_ animal, and she needs your love and protection," Desmond says and deposits the puppy in Minerva's hand. "If you don't feed her and protect her and keep her safe and warm, she's gonna be sad and cry and die. Do you want the puppy to die?"

"This is childish," Minerva mutters, clearly uncomfortable.

"We're children," Desmond points out. "Now, the dog is what?"

She sighs and looks at the puppy. The puppy tries to lick her. "Ugh. It is slobbering all over me."

"Because she _loves_ you and _trusts_ you," Desmond says. "You are the dog's most favourite person in the whole world. Now, the dog is what, Minerva?"

Minerva wipes at the spot the dog licked. "The dog is – cute," she says, obviously not feeling it.

"Great," Desmond says and clasps his hands together. "I have decided," he announces to the world at large – or to Ludovico's bedroom and its only other occupant, anyway.

Minerva looks at him warily, leaning her head back while the puppy tries to lick her again.

Desmond grins. "Before all this is through… I am going to teach you how to human."


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Talk of animal cruelty in this chapter

Desmond only knows how to be a normal child in theory – it's not like his experience as one was normal. Most he knows comes from television and movies, which is probably not a good example to follow. Minerva hasn't been a child of any sort for longer than the western civilisation has been a thing. So, in the end, they choose to err on the side of caution until they know more about their situation and the Orsi family in general.

Which means, Minerva will shut up and Desmond will snoop.

"I mean it," Desmond says sharply. "One sentence from your mouth might end up with these people calling the priests. Do you want to be exorcised?"

"Such thing should have no effect," Minerva points out. "Our occupation of these bodies is quite permanent."

Desmond just looks at her flatly.

"I will stay quiet," Minerva agrees, though she probably doesn't see his point, not fully. "For now."

"Ominous but I'm going to take what I can," Desmond mutters. "Now act sullen, hug your dog and if anyone asks, tell them Ludovico was being mean. Should buy you some pity points."

Minerva looks at him and then at the dog and then she presses her lips tightly together. "Very well," she says and picks the puppy up, looking at it like a woman on a mission – or like a scientist trying to figure out if a new sample was poisonous or not. Nothing about her behaviour seems natural or childish, but it's probably as good as it's going to get for now.

So, Desmond sets out snooping.

The Orsi Villa has a staff of six. There's the nanny, whose name he catches just by listening her berating another servant, a maid. The girl had creased the linens that go into Checco's room and so, young Clara Rossini was getting a dressing down from the nanny, who, judging by the looks of it, either ruled the Villa or thought she should be.

"If mistress was here, she would have you dismissed!" The nanny says to the maid. "How many times do I need to tell you, Clara – the linens most be ironed properly! And I saw the stains by Ludovico's bedpan, you splashed it again, didn't you? This sort of sloppiness isn't tolerated, Clara! Do you think you will ever be invited to the Palazzo this way?"

The maid, steadily shrinking into her shoes, just mumbles, "Yes Mrs. Bassanelli," and, "no, Mrs. Bassanelli."

So their nanny is something of a hardass. Desmond presses that into his mind and continue snooping.

Aside from the nanny and the maid, there is a cook, Mr. Bassanelli, who is married to the nanny, the poor man. Then there is a stable hand, young guy named Vaccaro, who tends to the two horses in the small Orsi Villa stable and spends most of the day cleaning the same stall and drinking wine when no one's watching. Then there is a gardener, Mr. Sciacca, who's job mostly consists of sitting around in shade of the olive trees and humming to himself about what a good job he's doing with the garden. And lastly, the governess, Miss Crespi, who doesn't live in the villa but comes there every day to give Checco and Ludovico lessons.

Mrs. Bassanelli  _hates_ Miss Crespi and it's plainly obvious from the report she's writing to Mistress Orsi, Checco's and Ludovico's mother. "There is no Discipline to be found in her Lessons – Ludovico runs quite Rampant and Checco is taking his Brother's escape readily. I do believe Miss Crespi encourages it…"

So that's fun. The whole arrangement of the place, with servants and power dynamics and, oh god,  _the gossip –_ he catches Clara the maid once talking to Vaccaro the stable hand about how the Bassanelli couple made fools out of themselves in the kitchen… yeah, it kind of reminds Desmond of a period drama or something. The whole thing of just so ludicrously... old-fashioned.

Also, the nanny is probably something more like a steward, or she's trying to be, anyway – she seems to be the one calling most of the shots in the villa. It's not official, Desmond doesn't think, but she's doing it anyway.

And the reason she can do it, he muses, is because of the absence of the parents. From the Mrs. Bassanelli's letters he figures that their father, Andrea detto l'Orso, is in the Orsi Palazzo in Bologna, tending to Orsi business, whatever that is. And their mother is… at her parents' villa? Something like that, it's hard to say – there's a lot of letters from her sent to Mrs. Bassanelli in answer to the reports she wrote, and the places those letters came from change seemingly with each letter. Missus Orsi writes from her parents' house, from her sister's, from a friend's, from a cousin's… doesn't look like she's at home much.

Doesn't look like she takes her children on her many visits much either.

The absence of the Orsi parents is a relief and probably a boon – but it does make Desmond feel a bit bad for the kids themselves. Growing up raised by servants in the countryside. And considering the temperament of those servants, either strict or completely oblivious… no wonder Checco and Ludovico grew up to be little shits.

"This, for your information, is not how human people usually raise their kids," Desmond says to Minerva after conveying her the information he's been gathering. "Please don't take this as a human standard, this is actually a bit fucked up."

"I see," Minerva says, dubious. "Unusual situation or not, it's one we have to contend with until these bodies grow up. How do you suggest we proceed?"

Desmond draws a breath and then blows it out slowly. "I have no idea," he admits. "I guess we take it one day at a time."

* * *

 

Their first mess up is fairly minor.

Minerva can't figure out how to put on clothes. Which in and of itself isn't that bad, they figure out later, they could have just left it at that – except they don't. Instead Desmond helps her to dress.

"First you pull on these and stop waving your dick around, that's rude," he says, shoving underthings at flustered Minerva.

"I know it's rude, but human clothing is – why are there so many pieces?" Minerva mutters and considers the underthings.

Desmond takes them from her hand, turns them right way around, and motions to the leg holes. "One leg after the other, hop to it. Next up, shirt –"

Thankfully, them being so young, their clothing is actually relatively simple. Could do with less floof and pomp – seriously, the breeches Checco apparently wears are ridiculous – but overall, it could be worse. Underthings, hose, shirt, floofy breeches, doublet.

"These clothes are inefficient and unnecessarily complicated," Minerva mutters while Desmond helps her fasten the doublet.

"They're the very height of fashion," Desmond says with a grin, and that's when Mrs. Bassanelli comes in.

She obviously has no idea what to think – she opens her mouth to berate Desmond for messing with his brother, stops, frowns, and then asks dubiously, "Ludovico, what are you doing, boy?"

"I'm helping Checco put clothes on," Desmond says, smothering the urge to add  _what does it look like_ at the end.

"Why?" Mrs. Bassanelli demands and folds her arms. "What are you up to?"

Desmond blinks innocently. "Can't big brother help little brother out? You're always telling me to be nicer. I'm being nice." That's a bit of a gamble, but going by what he's observed about the boys and what people expect of Ludovico so far….

Mrs. Bassanelli narrows her eyes suspiciously. "Run along now, Ludovico," she says, moving to take his place in tending to Minerva – who does not look happy about this change. "If you're feeling helpful, you could go to the sitting room and prepare it for Miss Crespi, I'm sure she would  _appreciate_ your  _help."_

The way she says it sounds a bit like the opposite of what she's saying. "Right," Desmond says and looks at Minerva, who is trying not to look annoyed while Mrs. Bassanelli gropes at her clothes, as if checking if Desmond had laid any traps in the folds of her breeches. Christ.

Ludovico must've been one hellish brat, huh?

"Right," Desmond says again and waves at Minerva. She gives him a smothered glare, swaying in the handling she's getting. Poor has-been-goddess.

* * *

 

Their second mess up is in the lessons.

Miss Crespi is a young woman, maybe twenty five or so, and though Mrs. Bassanelli glares at her, she seems to be in a good mood when she comes in. She is also a bit of a looker, and obviously everyone in the villa knows it – including Mr. Bassanelli, who actually comes to bring them drinks and snacks and to ogle at Miss Crespi's bosom, tightly packed and almost spilling out from her dress. Mrs. Bassanelli is not happy about it.

Well, that explains some things around the villa, anyway.

And then the mess up.

"Well then, boys," Miss Crespi says after the picking and glaring staff have cleared out and they're alone with their governess. "Shall we continue from the last?"

She takes a book, obviously an important classical text of some sort, and starts reading it. She's reading in Latin.

Their lessons are in  _Latin._

Desmond glances at Minerva uneasily to find her attentively listening to their teacher, looking sort of morbidly fascinated with what's being said. She obviously understands every word. Desmond does not, not a single one.

"Now," Miss Crespi says. "Checco, I know this is a little advanced for you still, dear, but can you tell me anything about what I just read for you?"

"You said that the object of education is to teach us to love that which is beautiful," Minerva says very dubiously.

Miss Crespi stares at her in black faces confusion. "Oh?" she asks and casts a look at Desmond who quickly throws his hands up in universal  _wasn't me, ma'am_ gesture. Miss Crespi hums. "Have you been studying on your own?"

Minerva frowns and then, realising her mistake, looks down in confused dismay.

"Checco, dear, it's nothing to be ashamed about!" Miss Crespi says quickly. "Why, this is wonderful, your translation was spot on! Ludovico, wasn't it wonderful?"

"Er, yeah, pretty damn amazing," Desmond says, giving Minerva a look. Didn't last even a full day, huh?

Miss Crespi gasps. "Ludovico!"

"What – I was agreeing with you!"

"Your language!" the governess says and sets her hands on her hips. "I'm going to have to tell Mrs. Bassanelli – you know she does not approve this kind of language from you, and neither do I."

Desmond stares at her blankly for a moment before he gets it – and, seriously? Just for a  _damn?_ Damn, that's… not going to be easy for him. "I'm sorry Miss Crespi, it won't happen again."

She looks at him, gauging how serious he is and then nods, turning to Minerva. "Checco dear, the progress you have made is very impressive. Would you like to try pronouncing next?"

"No," Minerva answers, and the dismay she must be feeling makes her look like a sullen child.

"Now, now," Miss Crespi says. "You're not going to have to read, I'll read something out for you and then you will repeat, alright? Now listen closely…."

Minerva casts a look at Desmond – who can't understand a word Miss Crespi is saying. He shrugs, unsure and a little uneasy. Minerva probably can talk Latin like a native – which, considering that Checco is supposed to be five and probably shouldn't know more than maybe a few words of Latin… yeah. Not good. And she can't lie worth damn, it turns out.

Fuck it.

Before Minerva can try and figure out how to handle the situation, Desmond makes an ass out of himself by repeating – and completely mangling – the Latin Miss Crespi is reading. He'd not even trying to make it bad, that's just how it comes out – exaggeratedly awful.

Minerva looks at him, horrified.

"Ludovico!" Miss Crespi cries.

"What? I repeated after you, just like you said," Desmond says, blinking innocently at her. "I think my rendition was better."

"It was Checco's turn to read, Ludovico," Miss Crespi days sternly. "Let your brother try."

"Well, he doesn't want to," Desmond says and folds his arms.

Miss Crespi looks at Minerva, who ducks her head to hide her expression, a little too late. What Miss Crespi reads on Minerva's face brings a thoughtful look to her eyes and she considers them for a moment, looking between embarrassed Minerva and petulant Desmond.

"Very well, I'll let it be for now," she says, and she seems almost pleased. "Let's move onto grammar then."

The rest of the lesson is  _terrible_ for Desmond, who can't understand much at all, and ultimately boring for Minerva, who eyes the teacher with a look of morbid curiosity and doesn't say much. There aren't any more slips, but the governess is paying more attention on Minerva, almost fawning over every answer she manages to drag out of her. It's almost hilariously stressful, watching Minerva try to pretend not to know as much as she does under the governess' excitement and encouragement.

Desmond doesn't get anywhere near as much attention – which is really starting to make him wonder.

"You're going to have to teach me Latin," he murmurs to Minerva once they're finally through for the day and can escape the lessons. "I should know this stuff as Ludovico, and I don't, and I can't pretend I'm just being a shit on purpose forever."

Minerva looks at him strangely. "Why do you not know Latin?"

"Why would I know Latin?" Desmond asks back. "It's a dead language in my time."

"Yes – but you have Latin ancestors," she points out.

Desmond opens his mouth and then closes it, frowning. He knows Italian thanks to Ezio, yeah, Arabic thanks to Altaïr and Kanien'kehá:ka thanks to Ratonhnhaké:ton, but… "I never lived those ancestors' lives," he says. "In the Animus, I mean, it was just Altaïr, Ezio and Ratonhnhaké:ton."

Minerva blinks, confused. "Desmond, I specifically engineered your ancestry for genetic memory recovery. Why should that matter?"

Desmond eyes her and then says slowly, "Okay, first of all, that's disturbing. Second, this isn't my body," he says. "It doesn't even have those genetics."

Minerva arches her brows at that.

"It doesn't, does it?" Desmond asks and she looks away. "Hey, come on, does it?"

"There you are!"

It's Mrs. Bassanelli, and she does not look happy.

"Miss Crespi told me your swore during your lessons, Ludovico, and made a nuisance of yourself," she says dangerously. "Come with me, boy. Now."

So the day is crowned by humiliation of corporal punishment. Spanked for saying  _damn._ Wonderful.

Jesus Christ, this household is something else.

* * *

 

The third mistake is the dog. Desmond kind of expected it, really, but not like this. Them not even knowing the dog's name, that was weird. Minerva not even knowing how to pet the poor thing, that was also weird. So yeah, Desmond expected people to start questioning things.

What he didn't expect was the reason why Ludovico was forbidden from taking Checco's dog – or that there was an actual reason for it. What he thought was just a spoiled kid maybe being taught a lesson about ownership turns out to be something worse.

It's another beautiful day in the Villa, just on the side of being a little too hot. While the maid is airing out their bedrooms, Minerva and Desmond are ushered to spend time outside. There, while they're pretending to play in the shade of the vine trellis in the garden while planning what should they do about the lessons, Minerva makes the puppy whine accidentally by pulling at her ears too hard.

And it's Desmond who nearly gets a beating for it.

Without even saying anything, Mrs. Bassanelli drags him away from Minerva by the ear, taking him to the sitting room and giving him a dressing down of the fucking century.

"I don't know what terrible thoughts you've put in your brother's head, but you will stop it  _right this instant_ , boy," Mrs. Bassanelli snarls at him. "Checco is a good boy, a caring and loving boy,  _unlike you,_  an the dog is his – do not teach him to be like you, Ludovico! Can't you see how much better than you he is?"

Desmond would be supremely insulted and furious on poor Ludovico's behalf, except for how desperate Mrs. Bassanelli sound, like she really believes it. Which is not exactly good, but…

Desmond had been watching. No one in this place likes or trusts Ludovico. The maid is actually a little scared of him.

"Why is Checco better?" Desmond asks warily, trying to make sense of it all the while trying to sound like a petulant kid. "What's so great about him?"

"You know why – don't pretend you don't. You're smarter than that," Mrs. Bassanelli says.

"No, I don't know."

She gives him a look. "You know what you did, Ludovico. You know why it was wrong."

Desmond has a bad feeling about this. "No, I don't!" he says anyway because what else can be say?

"Lord have mercy on you, child – you killed your dog, Ludovico," Mrs. Bassanelli hisses. "The dog your mother bought you! And if you can't see why that was wrong, then I pity you – but Checco isn't like you, he isn't as cruel as you, and, for the love of God, please,  _don't make him like you_!"

* * *

 

So that's what you get when you decide to inhabit the bodies of villains – you might end up in the body of a preteen psychopath.

"What that body did before you came to it is inconsequential to you," Minerva says dismissively. "You are neither guilty nor responsible for what Ludovico Orsi did."

"Yeah, but I'm still stuck with the consequences," Desmond says with a sigh. "No wonder everyone hates me. This kid was apparently a monster. And here I was worried about demonic possession and exorcism."

And judging by how the Orsi Brothers turned out, Checco might've been the better brother once, but he definitely didn't stay that way. Whether it was Ludovico's influence or if whatever turned Ludovico into a dog-killing monster happened to Checco too…

"Ugh, this sucks," Desmond groans and runs hands over his face. "What kind of eight year old kills their own dog? Jesus Christ."

Minerva considers him and then turns back to the puppy, running her fingers delicately over the puppys white, curly fur. She's being very careful now, watching the dog closely for reaction.

"The true Ludovico Orsi is gone," she says then. "Whether he was cruel out of ignorance or true malice, it hardly matters anymore."

Desmond looks at her, frowning and then snorts. "I bet it wouldn't bother you at all, being in this body. You'd be right at home inside a psychopath."

Minerva frowns. "Lacking human sentimentality does not mean I am incapable of morality, Desmond. What Ludovico did doesn't matter – he's gone.  _You_ are here. And you are not going to kill my dog, are you?"

"What – no, of course not!"

Minerva gives him a look. "You are an improvement upon Ludovico Orsi's life," she says. "In every way. I suspect people will see that soon."

Desmond hesitates and then falls down to lie on his back, sighing. "But I got to act like him, otherwise it will be suspicious," he says.

"You are a child. Human children are strange and changeable," Minerva says. "Merely make it seem as if you grow out of Ludovico Orsi's cruel nature into a better person."

Desmond considers that for a moment, eying the ceiling. "Yeah, you're right," he says. "That's – yeah, that's a good idea, Minerva."

Minerva gives him a flat look at his tone. "I am not completely clueless as to how human psychology works," she says. "Remember, we made you – and I in particular made  _you._ I am quite familiar with how your mind works."

"If you're so good at it, then you can stop being creepy," Desmond says just as flatly.

"As soon as you're done complaining," she answers primly.

Desmond throws a pillow at her.


	4. Chapter 4

Desmond and Minerva come up with a plan. Though Desmond would've been fine with winging it – acting as nice and innocent as possible until people stop giving him the stink eye and accept that Ludovico had Changed His Terrible Ways or whatever… Minerva is more methodical.

"And for as long as you _act_ nice, that will all that it will be, an act of niceness," Minerva says. "And humans are suspicious of these sort of things."

"I know that," Desmond says, giving her a look. "I'm just surprised you know that."

"Sincerity among the Isu that sided with Humans during the Rebellion was a constant issue," Minerva admits while carefully petting her dog. "Humans always perceived us as _pretending_ in order to spy on them."

Desmond looks her over. "Were you?"

"In part, but the alliance was a honest one," Minerva sighs and shakes her head. "In either case, _acting,_ from what I saw then, always leaves some signs. Especially so if you do it intentionally and with the goal of being seen – and you, Desmond, are not the best actor."

"Excuse you, I am _amazing_ ," Desmond says with a little huff. "Nine years on the run from both Assassins and Templars – and boy, you don't know anything about human entertainment, do you? Acting is like _the_ thing among humans."

Minerva looks uncertain about that for a moment, giving him a suspicious look. "Humans find lying entertaining?"

"When you get really good at it, to the point you can play-act being someone else on the screen and it's believable? Hell yeah," Desmond says.

"That is… bizarre."

"Remind me to take you to a theatre play or something, once we're older," Desmond says and shakes his head. "Theatre was like the thing for Greeks and Romans, how do you not know this?"

"My focus was hardly on the ways humans amuse themselves. Divining the future takes time and energy and a great deal of concentration, it could not be wasted for trivial things," Minerva says somewhat defensively and then waves her hand. "In either case, acting _nice_ is unlikely to work."

"Then what do you suggest, oh master of human psychology?" Desmond asks.

"Find a focus," she says. "That is what worked with me. I could not pretend to indiscriminately _like_ and _favour_ all humans in my time – I found those that I honestly respected and I focused my attention to them."

Desmond considers that and then lets out a breath. "Well, you're not wrong about that probably working," he amends. "But I like to think I am generally a nice person. To most everyone I meet – I was nice to _Vidic_."

"You _killed_ Vidic."

"Well, yeah, eventually – but up until that I was pretty nice," Desmond says. "The dude kidnapped me and I didn't punch him in the face _once_. I even listened to his inane babbling. I'd say that's nice."

"Hmm. Perhaps. But that was borne from manners of a well-behaving adult – Ludovico is a troublesome and problematic _child_. If he becomes indiscriminately polite at everyone now, it will only seem suspicious. A focused attention on one thing, obsessive attention even, is more understandable."

She's got a point there, probably.

"Fine," Desmond says. "I'll figure it out. But what about you? You have an issue too, with how Checco is supposed to be. Apparently he was a loving, kind boy, or something. And you're… you."

Minerva doesn't look very impressed with that description. "Obviously, under Ludovico's probable treatment Checco has become more withdrawn and quiet. That is what Mrs. Bassanelli already suspects, so I will keep acting as I have. Eventually people will cease remarking on it."

"And the whole child genius part?" Desmond asks.

"Neuroplasticity of human young at work. Spending more time by himself, Checco has begun reading books to keep himself company, and it is starting to affect his intelligence."

Desmond considers that somewhat dubiously, but… yeah, what else they can really do about it. "Yeah, okay. So I will find one thing for Ludovico to be completely obsessed about, and Checco becomes a withdrawn, sullen nerd. Wonderful."

* * *

 

Minerva manages her part of the plan amazingly, which doesn't quite stop amazing Desmond. The Isu emotes at the level of particularly friendly box of rocks, but somehow that only sells the act of increasingly withdrawn boy _better_ with the household staff. Oh, Mrs. Bassanelli and of course Miss Crespi both fuss and fawn over her, but she just looks down on her books and answers in monosyllabic sentences, and somehow they _buy it_.

Desmond has a harder time of it, which he is not happy about. The few things he thinks of _focusing_ Ludovico's attention on are not believable. The best he could do was probably to develop a massive brother complex and give all his attention to Checco, but – eurgh, no. The amount of time he and Minerva spend together is already making people suspicious – and they're doing i without anyone being strangled, would you look at that, it's a miracle! He does not want to give the people around them any suspicions about anything… weird going on there. Ludovico's weird enough.

And then he finds a sword in Mrs. Bassanelli's _office_ – which is really a storage room which she has turned into place to store her letters, her reports and all the things she's confiscated from the staff and the boys. The sword itself isn't that odd, it is the 15th century, a lot of people have swords. But this has _Ludovico_ written in beautiful cursive carved into the hilt. It's _his_ sword, and it's in Mrs. Bassanelli's office, confiscated apparently from the actual Ludovico prior to Desmond's arrival.

It might have something to do with the dog, which is – yeah, not good. But a _sword_. Ludovico had a sword, a short one, but pretty damn nice one. No way he could get something like that, except if someone with enough money – like, say, his absentee parents – got it for him.

How early did sword training start for rich and noble kids in Renaissance times? Was Ludovico being trained in sword fighting? There's little to be found out about it among Mrs. Bassanelli's correspondence, but the fact that the sword exists at all and has seen some use… Ludovico must've known about it, used it. And then lost it.

So, Desmond goes to the source.

"Mrs. Bassanelli, when will I get my sword back?" Desmond asks, in his best _trying to behave but still petulant_ Ludovico voice.

Mrs. Bassanelli, who was inspecting the mantelpiece for dust, pauses her work to give him a look and then consider. She looks like she wants to say he can have it once he behaves – or preferably never – but Desmond has been on his best behaviour for _days_ now, and after the swear incident with Miss Crespi and Minerva making the puppy cry, there hadn't been any reason to berate him.

And Mrs. Bassanelli, while is not the nicest or kindest of women, isn't entirely unfair. "I will write to your father and leave it in his hands," she decides and turns away.

It takes almost a week for anything to come of it. In the meanwhile, Minerva settles into her sullen child act - pretending to read books at day and complaining how _nonsensical_ they were at night, while teaching Desmond Latin. "How are humans so _stupid_?" she cries in frustration.

" _Hey_ ," Desmond complains, looking up from his Latin notes. "I'm trying here, alright?"

"I don't mean _you_. I mean – Celestial Quintessence! Humans believe that the moon and planets are made of magical fog," Minerva says, slapping the book she's holding. It is about Ptolemy and the Celestial Spheres. "And that everything revolves around this tiny little planet – honestly, how are they this stupid?"

"It's not stupidity, it's lack of evidence and trust in the classics," Desmond says, not sure if he should be flattered or disturbed about not being included in human race. "And also a bit of human sense of superiority and religion. God created all of existence for Man, whom he created in his image, and all that. There isn't good enough tech yet for people to actually look at the stuff up in space to figure out what it is – all we got is our eyes, and they're not so good. Give us a break here."

" _Quintessence_ ," Minerva says. "It is the most ludicrous thing I have ever heard!"

"Wait until you read up on medicine," Desmond snorts. She gives him an alarmed look. "Humours. Look it up."

She does – and then she rants about it for a better part of the following night. It's kind of hilarious, really – it's the most passionate Desmond has seen her about anything else other than stopping Juno, and it's about flawed science.

"I will have to see about teaching people better," Minerva says firmly. "They should at least learn about bacteria and how infection truly works, not… not this."

"You'll get burned as a witch," Desmond says, amused.

" _What_?"

Yeah, poor Minerva is having tough time with Renaissance era science. Desmond would be more sympathetic, but… she keeps going on about how dumb humans are, and really… watching her flail about in abject frustration and exasperation is pretty entertaining.

"How can you be entertained by this?" Minerva demands. "This is _infuriating_."

"Schadenfreude," Desmond says serenely. "And you _deserve_ it, you self-important racist _ass_. We're still young and we don't live for thousands of years, have some damn patience, alright?"

She huffs and sets her books down. "Entertainment in someone else's misfortune. Humans are _vile_."

"We're social animals," Desmond says, unrepentant. "And justice is just so _satisfying_."

For the first time, Minerva looks like she wants to throw something at him in turn. She doesn't, opting to go to her puppy and to hug it in sort of annoyed huff, but she obviously contemplates it. Unknowingly, she's getting pretty well along on the path of learning how to human, all in all.

* * *

 

Mrs. Bassanelli isn't happy about the sword, but word from the top – from the Orsi Palazzo in Bologna, specifically – is undeniable, apparently. Desmond gets Ludovico's sword back.

"Ser Andrea is also reinstating your sword fighting lessons," Mrs. Bassanelli says, displeased in the extreme. "Bruno will be coming around starting tomorrow to give you lessons before your lessons with Miss Crespi. And I hope to _God_ you have learned your lesson and will behave this time, Ludovico."

"I promise, I'll be good," Desmond says as earnestly as he can as he accepts the box his sword is in.

The sword isn't exactly the Sword of Altaïr. It's a short sword, obviously made to Ludovico's size, and the design of it is fairly simple – a straight double edged blade, nothing particularly fancy about it. The make and design is serviceable, but not overly fancy – it was obviously made with the knowledge that it would be temporary. As Ludovico grew, it would soon be too small for him.

But it's still a very real, very sharp sword.

"I have found my focus," Desmond declares.

Minerva looks at him incredulously. "In order to avoid appearing as cruel as your host, you decide to dedicate all your care and attention on… a tool of killing?" she asks.

"Makes sense, doesn't it?" Desmond asks. "Also I am getting the feeling that this sword and Ludovico's dead dog have something to do with each other. Whether the kid killed the dog intentionally or not, I am going to try and spin it so that it was an accident and it startled the kid into his senses – and into respecting weapons and martial arts."

Minerva obviously doesn't see the logic in this.

"My kingdom for a TV and DVD to play samurai movies at you," Desmond sighs. "I'm going to try and spin Ludovico as an aspiring knight, or something like that. Chivalry and all. The kid was obviously on the violent side, so, it makes _sense_ – more than if he suddenly decided he's really into charity and helping his fellow man. Sword fighting is respectable enough – and wanting to be better at it will explain the better behaviour – Ludovico doesn't want the sword taken away, so, he plays nice."

"Right," Minerva says, still dubious. "And he fact that you already know sword fighting at the level of a Master Assassin?"

"I can pretend not to?"

Minerva arches her brows. "From experience I can now tell, that will not work."

Desmond looks at her – surrounded by books she hates and is not so surreptitiously writing _corrections_ about, and the designs of a microscope she's sketching out. She's obviously not doing a very good job at pretending not to know as much as she does – though thankfully, so far people are just going along with it. "Well," he says. "I can try?"

Minerva eyes him for a moment and then closes her book. "I believe this I want to see," she decides.

She's definitely picking up schadenfreude fast, if nothing else.

* * *

 

The sword master Desmond has is an old soldier from Forlí, who's settled down into something like retirement in the countryside and who, between tending to waterlogged vegetable fields, gave sword lessons to the sons of other soldiers – and in Ludovico's case, the sons of rich absentee fathers.

Turns out, Bruno is not the best teacher. He's deaf in one ear, has a bad knee which forces him to use a cane, and he obviously doesn't think much of Ludovico as a student. The lessons take place in the back garden, where the grass is cut short and the vine trellis gives them nice shade from the early morning sun, and honestly Bruno seems more interested in the garden than he is in Desmond.

"Well then," the old man grumbles through his patchy, mostly grey beard. "We'll drill on standard swings and  blocks. Take up your sword and take the stance."

"What stance?" Desmond demands dubiously.

"The stance, the stance," Bruno orders and waves at him with his cane. "Forward guard, boy, take it up."

Desmond takes a forward guard, giving the old man a wary look. Bruno doesn't even check if he has it right, just waves at him haphazardly to swing. He doesn't even say which kind of swing, just – swing. So, Desmond swings, making a slow swing from up to down, intentionally going for _that's terrible and will get you killed in a real fight._

"Good, good," Bruno says and takes a seat. "Now keep it up, thirty repetitions. Get to it."

The lesson is _terrible_. Desmond has never actually had formal sword fighting lessons, just sort of pick-ups in the Animus, first as Altaïr in Masyaf with the Assassins there, then in Monteriggioni with Ezio and Mario and the mercenaries. Those lessons had been sort of off-kilter because of the Animus – and because both Altaïr and Ezio had some prior experience – so they skipped the basics entirely. It was understandable then, because both Ezio and Altaïr were older, but this…?

Nothing about sword handling, nothing about proper grip, nothing about _not cutting himself to shreds_. Honestly, Ludovico shouldn't even be practicing with a _real fucking sword_ at this point of his life, should he? It should be a wooden sword, weighed to work like the real thing but _safe_. This is… not how Desmond expected the sword lesson to go.

He bears through it, though, gritting his teeth, while Minerva watches from the side, attentive. Thirty repetitions of this haphazard swing, thirty repetitions of that haphazard swing, now take this half-assed block stance, swing, then block, then swing… And Bruno half-assedly approves everything he does, no matter how many mistakes he makes, it's all _good, good, now do this next thing_. It's not exactly a hearty approval, but…

Fuck, if Desmond actually took these lessons to heart, he'd get killed in his first real sword fight.

So, it's Desmond's turn to pace in frustration along Minerva's bedroom at night. "Christ, it almost makes sense now, why Ludovico was such a fucking brat," he mutters. "Did you see that?"

"I saw you swinging a sharp stick of metal, over and over," Minerva says, not looking up from what she's writing. "It wasn't terribly entertaining."

"It wasn't terribly good either," Desmond snaps. "He got almost everything wrong – or rather, I did, and never once did he correct me. Not once! I could've done those drills standing on my head and he'd probably let me!"

"Then you should have done them right, if you know how," Minerva points out. "He didn't seem to care either way, so there was hardly a reason to downplay your abilities."

"That's not the point," Desmond says, annoyed. "He's a terrible, disinterested teacher who isn't teaching _shit_ – he's barely even doing anything." And though he could _almost_ believe there was an excuse like, say, building muscle through repetition, Ludovico definitely needed it… that wasn't it.

Bruno didn't give a shit about whether he was teaching Ludovico right or wrong, he was there just to do the absolute minimum to get paid and get out. And if that's how he taught Ludovico before, then Desmond can totally see the kid doing something stupid with a sword, like say, accidentally killing a dog, because he didn't fucking know better. Because his teacher _sucked_.

"If that guy teaches all his students like that, he's gonna have a lot of dead students very soon," Desmond says darkly. "I can't just… roll with it, not if this is going on with other kids."

Minerva glances up. "What are you going to do then?" she asks and closes her book. "You are a child, Desmond, what can you do?"

Desmond presses his lips together. "I don't know yet," he says. "But yeah, I sure as fucking hell am not going to downplay my abilities anymore, that's for sure." Hell, maybe if he starts doing shit right, Bruno might actually wake up enough to pay attention.

Minerva hums and looks down at her books, resting her hand over it. "Maybe you are right in making swordplay your focus," she muses. "You seem passionate about it."

"I am passionate about safety," Desmond snorts and goes to sit beside her. "And that guy isn't, and it annoys the ever loving hell out of me."

Minerva nods in agreement. "We could try reaching out to our parents," she comments. "I have been considering it myself. Some of these books have references to other books which the library does not possess," she admits. "And as a child I do not have the means to acquire the other books."

"You asking to buy some high end classics might raise some brows," Desmond comments, leaning back and then wincing – there's a book under him.

"Maybe later, once I have affirmed my reputation as a – what was it, a nerd?" Minerva asks and Desmond snorts. "Mrs. Bassanelli still reports on our progress to our mother, doesn't she?"

"Yep, writes to her every week," Desmond agrees. Mostly to complain, but lately there hasn't been much for her to complain about them – so mostly she's complaining about the governess and the maid, neither of whom are suitable for their jobs according to Mrs. Bassanelli.

"Currently she's writing a letter praising Checco for his new interest in the classics," Desmond says, rolling his eyes. "No question about who's the favoured son in this household."

"You could try making an effort yourself," Minerva points out. "Your Latin is still ghastly."

"Yeah, well, I've got no genetic memory popping up to magically teach it to me," Desmond says and looks at her pointedly. "Or do I, Minerva?"

She hums, noncommittal and looks down. The puppy is sitting helplessly by the bed, whining to get on it. "Nothing at all?" Minerva asks.

Desmond narrows his eyes. "You did something to these bodies, didn't you?"

Minerva doesn't answer immediately, setting her book aside and going to pick up her dog from the floor. "You really could do with making more effort," she says, giving the puppy a studious scratch. "You haven't even _tried_ to awaken the Sixth."

Desmond blinks at her, wearing Checco's body, with Checco's curly black hair tucked behind her ear. Then he sits up. "You're shitting me," he says. "This body could have Eagle Vision? And you already have yours?! Why didn't you _tell me_?"

"I thought you would have found out about it by now. It should come naturally to you, it's how I designed you," she admits and casts him a look. She sighs at Desmond's gobsmacked look. "Did you really think I'd bring us to this time empty handed? Honestly."


	5. Chapter 5

It's months before they meet either of their parents. Whenever they ask about them, Mrs. Bassanelli says that their father is a busy important man and their mother is a busy – apparently not so important – woman, and that they need to be more grateful for the beautiful house and easy life in the countryside they were provided. Mrs. Bassanelli, Desmond has come to realise, is good at making people feel guilty for asking her anything.

In the end, Desmond and Minerva get used to the lack of parental supervision and the fact that though Mrs. Bassanelli rules the house with fervour, she's still a _servant_ to them too, and so while she wields a lot of authority, it's not universally dispensed. A letter from Bologna can turn everything she orders on its head, after all, and so while she's harsh, she's also careful. Her authority teeters on a precarious perch, after all – she's only in charge for as long as her masters let her be. Which means, she can say a lot, but what she can actually _do_ is limited.

So, Minerva can run wild in the library and Mrs. Bassanelli can't exactly forbid it – Minerva can even start writing actual scientific treatises, and whenever Mrs. Bassanelli manages to wrestle them from her enough to read them… well, what can she do? Most of the time the writing goes beyond her understanding, and whenever she gets the smallest suspicion about the concepts Minerva is writing… there's not much she can do about it, except maybe write to the Master and the Mistress. If she goes and gets a naturalist or even a priest, she'll end up getting fired – servants can't be bringing that sort of drama and publicity to the houses they serve, that's preposterous. And with Mrs. Bassanelli's perch on the villa being oh so cosy…

"That is wonderful, Checco," she says, over and over. "I see you are working very hard. I think you deserve to go out and play early today."

"No," Minerva answers to that not very well veiled attempt to get her to stop. And so Mrs. Bassanelli lets her continue, because – what else can she do? Tell the obviously very intelligent child to stop developing their intelligence? What if the Master and the Mistress found out?

Desmond meanwhile, after testing waters to see how the general reaction went… throws himself full body at the sword training. He sneaks out at odd hours to do some practice himself, making sure he got caught every so often. He first makes himself a practice dummy out of sack cloth and sticks, and then gets the gardener and the stable hand to help him, constructing together a very well put together human shape.

"Hacking at this thing you'll end up ruining your sword, young master," Vaccaro comments, patting the big log-person's side.

"Can't have that," Desmond says and makes an exaggeratedly thoughtful face. "I'm going to need a practice sword." Which, of course, he then needs help with constructing, because Ludovico probably doesn't know how to carve.

Mrs. Bassanelli keeps a wary eye on these proceedings, and sits in several of Desmond's _lessons_ with Bruno the so-called-sword-master. The boringness of the lessons mixed with Desmond being busy with the practice dummy – and thus, not getting into trouble – seem to set her mind at ease a little. Bruno _obviously_ isn't teaching Ludovico anything _exciting,_ after all, and if the boy went and tired himself out with whacking wood with wood, then all the better for everyone.

She didn't like Minerva sitting in the garden while Desmond went about beating up the practice dummy, but she allowed it after making sure that Checco was under no circumstances to get involved with the practice, for "He is far too young, Ludovico, and far too delicate!"

The face Minerva made at being called delicate was kind of hilarious, but she didn't argue, and neither did Desmond, going as far as to argue for the opposite. "I wouldn't let him touch _my_ sword, because it's _mine_ and he can't have it." It seemed like something semi-troubled sword-obsessed spoiled kid would say.

And in the meanwhile, Desmond activated – or re-activated? – the Eagle Vision. It wasn't really even that hard now that he knew it was possible – like the only reason he _hadn't_ was because he'd nocebo'd himself by thinking that the Orsi bloodline couldn't possibly have the right genes so why even bother? In hindsight, he really should've known better.

Most of the household staff shows up grey, which is kind of disheartening. Even Mrs. Bassanelli is a very cool and neutral pale grey, not even red or anything. Not a single one of these people would lift a finger to save him or fight for him if someone attacked.

"Please tell me they care about you at least?" Desmond says to Minerva. "Because if they show up grey for you…" Well, then it really won't be the kids who are problem here, will it?

"They seem to," Minerva answers without looking up. The puppy, bigger now but still falling over her own feet, is wrestling with a discarded practice dagger while Minerva is trying to teach her the art of _fetch_.

"Good," Desmond mutters. "Still. I'm starting to think this place is a bit on the wrong side of fucked up."

"Is there a right side?"

"I'm serious. I've been _better_ , right?" Desmond asks. "I've been realistically well-behaved, right? And still these people would just stand by and watch if I got killed. And Mrs. Bassanelli still treats me like she expects me to set the house on fire – and everyone follows her lead. Even if Ludovico was a bit messed up… how he's being treated is fucked up."

Minerva glances up at him, considering. "Yes," she agrees then. "It is. To be honest, Mrs. Bassanelli doesn't seem like much of a motherly type, does she?"

Desmond frowns. "No, but what does that have to do with it?"

"To her, taking care of us is a status symbol – she doesn't do it because she cares or wants us to grow up to be good adults," Minerva points out. "She just wants the money and prestige that comes with the task, and in these parts running household like ours seems remarkable. Therefore, our development is inconsequential – indeed, she might be more comfortable if we simply stay the way we are. That way she knows our behaviour and how to wield some power over us."

Desmond stares at her for a moment. "Huh," he says then. He has heard Mrs. Bassanelli bragging not so subtly at the locals who came about on this or that errand – she always did seem haughty and proud and very _humble-brag_ about it, but… somehow he still thought her actual job mattered to her.

But then again – she didn't do much raising, did she? She didn't even try to make Ludovico change his _wicked ways_ , just shouted at him for being how he is and telling him not to get his better and kinder brother involved. Whether Ludovico became better or not, she didn't give a single crap.

"This place is fucked up," Desmond decides.

"All the better for us, for no one cares much about what we do," Minerva says and tugs the toy knife from her _still_ nameless dog's mouth. "I suspect we could start expanding our interests safely soon."

* * *

 

And then, out of the blue, their mother appears in the house. She does so without writing ahead, sending Mrs. Bassanelli into flailing panic and the household into a bit of chaos, as no one was prepared to accept the Mistress back. There is a lot of last minute checking of mantelpieces and cleaning behind the scenes, while Minerva and Desmond are checked over and marched into the hall to welcome their mother back to the villa.

Their mother is _nothing_ like what Desmond expected. He thought she'd be a haughty socialite or something, maybe even a bit like Lucrezia Borgia or something, all high and mighty, enjoying the lavish life of travelling and meeting friends and family. She's nothing like that, not at all.

Instead she's a plump young woman, maybe twenty five _at most_ , with a friendly round face and soft voice and _extremely_ agreeable manners. Too agreeable, even.

While Mrs. Bassanelli swears to have the master bedroom aired and prepared and that of course Clara would draw her a bath post haste and that fresh clothes would be prepared and so on and so on, Mistress Orsi just smiles and nods, saying, "Oh, you don't need to do that," and when the nanny insisted, "If it isn't too much trouble," and when the nanny started ushering her inside, "Well, if you feel you must…"

Desmond and Minerva don't get a word edgewise as Mrs. Bassanelli presents them and then starts all but steering the somewhat distracted Mistress Orsi through the routine of cleanup, food, rest, leisure. It's almost bewildering to watch, while Mistress Orsi smiles kindly through it all, being fawned and flattered and pushed around. Mrs. Bassanelli _insists_ on showing her the garden and the kitchen and _look how well they've kept the library_ and so on and so on, guiding the Mistress through an inspection tour she herself doesn't seem to really care about but goes along with, because as it turns out, Mistress Orsi is a total and complete _pushover._

"Well, da-rn," Desmond says, while Mistress Orsi and Mrs. Bassanelli are marvelling the curtains. "Did not expect that."

"What did you expect?" Minerva asks quietly.

"Not this," Desmond admits.

Honestly he'd kind of thought that their mother was absent because she didn't _care_. Arranged marriages are still all the rage, after all, and looking at her, she's pretty damn young. Like, _was maybe eighteen at most when she had Ludovico_ young. So it would be understandable if she was one of those mothers who _did her duty_ to their arranged husband and then got the hell out of here. Watching her now, though…?

Desmond gets the feeling she was away for so long because people _insisted_ she visit them next and told her she was welcome to stay for as long as she liked, and Mistress Orsi is incapable of saying no.

Definitely not the mother he expected for someone like Ludovico and Checco.

It's almost four hours after Mistress Orsi's arrival that she actually gets to talk to her children – and though Desmond's thinking she must be a bit of an airhead by now, she's actually surprisingly sharp when she talks to them.

"Mrs. Bassanelli tells me you've started writing, Checco," she says to Minerva. "You've taken interest in natural sciences?"

Minerva almost stutters in surprise – no one in the house _really_ questions her about it, after all, so it's a bit unexpected. "I – yes – it's interesting," she says awkwardly.

"I would very much like to read your writings," Mistress Orsi says, her voice light and her smile warm. "I thought to asks Mrs. Bassanelli to send some over to me when I was at the Scordato house with my friend, Simonetta, but I wanted to hear you read them for me yourself! Could you go fetch some so we may look at them together?"

Minerva glances at Desmond. Desmond shrugs. Minerva is pretty settled into the character of Checco and knows better what she'd do than him – tell their mother off or agree? Up to her, really.

"Yes, of course, right away," Minerva says then, looking a little wary. "It might take me a while to find something – suitable. I've written quite a bit."

"Of course, of course, darling – take your time," Mistress Orsi says, nodding her to go. Awkward, Minerva backs away, casting a look at Desmond and then picking up her dog from the floor and rushing away.

Desmond turns to their mother, straightening his back. The woman had basically just gotten the _younger brother_ out of the room, and there is no way that Mrs. Bassanelli had much nice to say about him. Mistress Orsi doesn't seem like a woman to shout at her children, but…

The round-faced woman smiles at him and then takes him by the shoulders. "Have you been good, Ludovico?" she asks quietly. "Have you been good to your brother?"

Weirdly, that makes Desmond's eyes sting. "I've tried," he says.

"Good boy," Mistress Orsi says and then she hugs him.

Somehow, that's a whole bunch worse than being shouted at would've been. Desmond knows what to do with being shouted at, he knows what to do with people blaming him and even punishing him for shit he didn't do – he doesn't know what to do with _this_. This is not at all how he expected their mother to be like.

It's ridiculous how much it makes him want to cry.

He settles on going stiff with panic instead. Mistress Orsi holds him for a moment and then, tucking him to her side, she guides them to the living room sofa, to wait for Minerva, and she doesn't say anything, just keeps a hand around his shoulders and pats his head gently. It's weird and nice and _weird_.

Desmond stays there, bewildered and sort of melting, until Minerva comes back with one of her _lighter_ essays. Of course, light for her is still kind of groundbreaking - while making scientific breakthroughs, she's also on the side trying to figure out human development, and so she's written a paper on the effect animal domestication had on human society. Which, compared to her studies on astronomy, geology, human anatomy and biology and all the rest, is pretty light… But Renaissance Italy doesn't really have the concept of anthropology, and that's basically what she, in that single essay, invented.

And she still writes like an Isu.

"Observing the work of the farm hands on their fields," she begins in crystal clear monotone, and thank god she didn't add _human_ on front of _farm hands_ though it should like she does add it in her head, "one has to come to the conclusion that domestication of animals was an unexpected stroke of luck and genius on the part of early human civilisations…"

Listening her going on, Desmond has a minor religious panic  because the way Minerva wrote her essay does not lend much credibility to creationism, and she uses words like _evolution_ and _natural selection_ and _developmental process_. How much Mistress Orsi understands of it is hard to say, but she listens to the whole essay with a smile, nodding encouragingly and stroking Desmond's hair in the meanwhile.

They are in so much trouble, Desmond decides. So, so much trouble.

* * *

 

Their mother's first name is Gessica. It takes stupid amount of effort to figure that out – breaking into Mrs. Bassanelli's office isn't enough, because the woman never uses first names for _her betters_ , only their surnames. In the end it's while spying their mother writing a letter to their father that Desmond sees her signing the letter with, _With Great Love, Gessica_ and finds the name.

He also finds that Gessica Orsi is there to stay – at least until someone else manages to persuade her away from home.

"I have been away for too long," she says, while meaninglessly bustling around the living room, straightening the decorative vases and touching up the flowers Clara had set on them that morning. "I have missed it – and I am looking forward to _entertaining_ as opposed to being entertained."

Which is all well and good, probably, except that… she's _there_. She comes to watch their lessons with Miss Crespi – who is all aflutter for a moment, and then they get along like best friends who haven't seen each other for years, which would be _fine,_ except it's terrifying. Because Miss Crespi is intelligent in a way Mistress Orsi is perceptive, and they're both giving Minerva some thoughtful looks.

That is going to be some fucking _trouble_ before long, Desmond can just taste it.

Gessica also watches Desmond train. She comes investigating the sound of him whacking the training dummy around, and later sits with Minerva on Desmond's lessons with Bruno, and she looks worryingly thoughtful while doing it. Some of Desmond's own displeasure must be showing, because she looks troubled at the end.

"Master Bruno is not… very attentive, is he?" she comments to Mrs. Bassanelli.

"… no, Mistress," Mrs. Bassanelli has to admit, because she might be fine with how things are, she's not stupid or blind. "I'm afraid he isn't."

"He does not seem to be teaching Ludovico much during these lessons."

"No, Mistress, I suppose he isn't. But Ludovico has not complained, not at all," Mrs. Bassanelli says and casts a glare at Desmond. " _Has he_?"

"I can teach myself better," Desmond shrugs.

Which is not the right answer. Mrs. Bassanelli looks like she wants to take him into hand, while Gessica looks worried. In the end, Desmond does not get a beating for his comment – it's much worse, really. Or maybe better? It's hard to say, but it's not the same either way. Bruno stops coming to the villa to give him lessons.

A couple of weeks pass in this weirdly inbetween state, with Desmond and Minerva both walking as if on hot coals. Mrs. Bassanelli is beside herself, and then she starts looking downright _alarmed_. The whole villa seems to be holding its breath, really. Mistress Orsi writes to Bologna, gets a reply, writes back and gets another reply. Desmond starts having dreams about ancient Rome for some reason – it improves his Latin while doing precisely nothing for his already tense mood.

"It tends to be thus," Minerva tells him, utterly unsympathetic. "In times of stress, genetic memory begins unwinding. It comes to us as is needed."

"I am not an Isu, you realise?"

"You are as good as you're going to get," Minerva says and actually pats his head, in part consoling and in part proud. "And it is time your mind beings working as it should."

Desmond throws a book at her.

The next morning, Mistress Gessica Orsi announces, bright and happy, that Checco and Ludovico would begin attending school come next month.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gessica is basically an OC because I could not find any info about Checco's and Ludovico's mother anywhere.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer on historical accuracy, aka, I pulled most of this chapter from my ass after research failed me.
> 
> Also warning for student corporal punishment

They are so screwed.

The school their mother arranges for them isn't at much a school as it's a convent for boys. It's a former monastery that was burned at some point of its existence and then repaired by the lord of Forlì to serve as a place of learning for young promising men. It is also completely staffed by monks and priests.

"Here your sons will receive the most excellent education in natural philosophy, humanitarianism and mathematics, as well as guidance in various other important subjects such as astronomy," Father Octavian, the abbot and headmaster of the school says while giving them and their mother a tour around the monastery. "We have a most dedicated curriculum and all our teachers are learned men, many having been to the University of Bologna before joining the church, so your sons will be well looked after…"

The place is the most horrifying thing Desmond thinks he's ever seen and kind of puts a damper on the joy that was riding mother's carriage to get there. For one the place of surrounded by walls like a damn fortress with monks stationed around the place like guards, all exits carefully fenced and locked. The grounds inside the wall are nothing to write home about – there's a vegetable garden, a well and a single tree but that's about it. The convent itself is – well, a convent. It's a cold stone building with a bell tower and cramped quarters, study halls and prayer rooms, and the only place with a fireplace is the warning room. Apparently being chilly in Italian heat is pious or something.

"We begin each day with prayers of course," Father Octavian says. "Then I or one of the brothers will hold a small sermon in the main prayer hall. All students are fed breakfasts of course, children here aren't expected to take part in our fasts, though naturally they can if they choose to. Then rest of the day is spent in various lessons, with breaks for meals. We end the day with chores – tending to the garden, cleaning, and so forth…"

There are students already in the place, ages ranging from age ten to seventeen or so – all of them dressed in black robes like extras from a Harry Potter movie, except none of them are wizards. They're kids of various nobility and gentry from the area surrounding Forlì, probably – they definitely have the air of haughty richness about them as they look at Desmond and now six year old Minerva down their noses. Checco, Desmond quickly realises, would be the youngest student there.

"An excellent preparation for any university, I assure you," Father Octavian says, finishing their tour around the place. "All our students who have gone from here to continue their learning in other such institutions have found themselves quite up to the task thanks to our guidance here."

"Well, it all sounds simply wonderful, doesn't it, my sons?" Gessica asks, all but clapping her hands together in excitement.

"Yeah," Desmond says with dawning horror. "Wonderful."

Minerva doesn't say anything at all, she just sort of stares around blankly.

Gessica looks at them and then smiles to Father Octavian and nods. "I think this arrangement will do quite nicely," she says. "And the boys may begin straight away?"

"We have just started a new lesson plan, so yes, now is the best time for them to join our lessons here."

Yeah. They are so screwed.

* * *

 

"I am not an idiot, Desmond," Minerva says later when Desmond pulls her aside to warn get about everything. "I know about human superstitions and religious beliefs and I have read the Bible. I know what is expected of children here and what is not safe."

"Are you sure?" Desmond asks uncertainty, scratching at his scalp. His hair has started getting itchy and messy lately and how rarely people bathe here is not helping. "I mean, I've heard you rant, and – you've read the Bible?"

"Yes – there is one in the library," Minerva says, "it is not the most interesting piece of human literature I have ever read, but it's does have some interesting sections and it is culturally important – and it explains why it is so important for humans to think they are the centre of the universe. It's ridiculous, of course, but it is interesting nonetheless."

For a moment Desmond just stares at her. "Yeah, okay, but, first of all, you can't ever say those words in that particular order again, okay? Don't call anything _human something_ , that just makes you sound like an alien. And don't call the Bible ridiculous, you're going to get a beating that way. You have to act human, act normal. And don't science, at all."

Minerva gives him a look.

"And no more writing stuff," Desmond says. "Not aside from what we're told to write – I'm serious, Minerva. This is how people get lynched as heretics."

Minerva lets out a breath. "Again, I am not an idiot, Desmond," she says. "I know how to blend in now."

Desmond looks at her worriedly. Yeah, she's gotten better, but – that high and mighty Isu still shows through more often than not. And before now they haven't really been put to the test about how well they can act like children. Fooling disinterested staff and absent parents is one thing – but fooling other kids? Yeah. Not going to happen that easily.

Desmond sighs and resigns himself to beating up a lot of older kids in defence of his foolish younger brother before their through here. "Just, for me," he says. "Think before you say or write anything, alright?"

* * *

 

They end up sharing a bunk, thank God. They're the only new additions to the convent that time of the year, and after their mother has bid them her goodbyes, they're settled in, robes and all, and as such, are put in the same room. Or rather, a cell. It's a convent, after all.

It's cold as hell during the nights. The convent cells are almost all of them in the basement levels with only small windows, and no matter how warm it gets outside, there is a lingering chill in the convent foundations that refuses to budge. It's probably excellent for preserving wines and beers – not so good at preserving children. The first night, Desmond and Minerva end up huddled together for warmth – something which isn't terribly unusual in the convent, they find out later.

The next day, the routine begins.

At the villa, religion wasn't that closely followed. Mrs. Bassanelli did do her prayers and she said grace at meals and so forth – but Desmond and Minerva weren't even taken to church or anything. So, their religious schedule had been pretty much nonexistent. At the convent though? They learn to pray.

You pray when you wake up, you pray no less than three times at the morning sermon led by Father Octavian, you pray at breakfast and lunch and dinner and every lesson at the convent is opened with a little prayer, just for a change. And night prayers before going to bed are apparently often actually monitored, with monks listening in to boys who are expected to say their prayers and express their humble gratitude to the Lord out loud.

In very short order, the words _our Father who art in Heaven_ turn into a sort of meditative mantra, and Desmond finds himself completely zoning off during prayers. He's never been in any way religious person – agnostic is the closest he got to a faith before meeting the Isu – but he can see how people come to be zealously religious like this. It's just drilled into them, prayer by prayer. It's almost scary how soothing it becomes and how fast.

There are probably worse ways of living.

Minerva meanwhile gets her hands beaten with a cane on the first day for questioning her teachers. It wasn't even anything that big or scandalous – Brother Ansaldo conjugated some random Latin verb wrong, which Minerva thought was safe to point out. She was wrong.

"Respect thy teachers, young Checco!" the monk snaps at her. "For they are older and wiser and have much experience."

Minerva states at her reddened knuckles and says, "Yes, Sir," with the voice of a boy mortally wounded.

It's not bad, really – a couple of whacks, not that forcefully delivered, they're better within half an hour. But the sheer insult and disappointment Minerva feels for it is far more devastating – and Desmond kind of despairs for how fast she lost all respect for all human teachers everywhere. Any hope of her making any real effort in the lessons dies right there and then.

And then there are the other boys. Minerva is the youngest student at the school, and no one misses the fact that her Latin, mathematic and even her humanitarianism and philosophical work is impeccable. Desmond at nine years old now is the next youngest after her – the next is a boy from Forlì, Roberto, who is ten and was the previous youngest in the school. And it turns out that in this school being the youngest means being the weakest, dumbest and the bottom in the pecking order. Except, Minerva _isn't._ And with Aquilus being now a constant nightly visitor in Desmond's dreams, neither is Desmond.

And it course, there are the popular kids and the Ringleader - and they don't like the Orsi brothers, not one bit.

"You are the new boys from Imola," says the Ringleader. "Orsi, wasn't it? I've never even heard of the name, Orsi. Tonino, have you heard of the name Orsi?"

"Sounds like a made up name to me," another of the popular boys says.

"It does to me too," the Ringleader says, sniffing in Desmond's and Minerva's direction. "Why do you have a made up name – is it because your freak of a father is all but disinherited? And had to make up a new name to hide his shame?"

And then, as if on cue, laughter.

Desmond had no idea what to even think. Because – what even? He casts a look at Minerva, who has a single brow arched. She doesn't seem to know either. "I have no idea what you are talking about," Desmond says politely.

The Ringleader shorts. "Oh, good Lord, you're actual simpletons.Don't you know anything about your own family? And they thought you were ready to be shown around in society? Your mother should be _ashamed_."

"You are a stain on the Deddi household, you know," Tonino says. "A disgrace from birth."

"And you should know how to act like it too," says another boy. "Who do you even think you are, going on about it the way your are during lessons, when you don't even know anything? It's a disgrace."

"I have an idea," the Ringleader says. "Since their _family_ is all about made up names, I think they should have ones too. It was Ludovico, right? You can be Blockhead Orsi – and you were Checco? Well now you are Cretin Orsi. Now all your names are made up!"

"What do you say, Blockhead, Cretin?" Tonino asks. "Donato gave you wonderful new names – aren't you grateful?"

Minerva casts a confused look at Desmond. "What are they doing?" she asks.

"I think they're trying to bully us," Desmond answers thoughtfully. "It's a social hierarchy thing among simple people – who barks the loudest, and all that."

"Excuse me?" Tonino demands. "What did you just say, you scruffy bastard?"

Desmond arches his brows. Scruffy? His hair isn't that bad, is it? "I'm sorry, I don't understand _dog_ ," he says kindly. "Um, woof woof?"

And then there is a very predictable fistfight. Names and insults get shouted. It's all great fun, really.

Later, after the scuffle had broken up with some bruises but no serious damage, Desmond and Minerva withdraw to their cell and block the door. "Now what the hell did they mean about our father?"

"I don't know," Minerva says thoughtfully. "But you have to admit, detto l'Orso is a strange name. Our father's name is literally _called the Bear."_

Desmond hums. "And he was Deddi before becoming detto l'Orso," he muses. "Huh. Weird that we didn't know that, usually families like ours have like family trees made or something."

"Tonino implied it was a somewhat shameful matter," Minerva comments. "So it might be for a reason."

"Yeah," Desmond hums in agreement. Still, weird. Has little to do with them personally but – like with Ludovico's issues… it's something they will probably have to deal with anyway. "Something to keep in mind, I guess. In the meanwhile – you gotta brace yourself."

Minerva blinks confusedly.

"Yeah. We've just become targets," Desmond says and sits down to get his too tight shoes off – he's having a unexpectedly wryly growth spurt, it looks like. "Those kids are going to bully us big time from now on."

"You could have set them straight," Minerva comments. "You are far more capable than any of them."

"They're kids," Desmond says, giving her a look. "I can't just go around kicking little kids' asses, that's just not right."

"So instead it will be our asses that will be kicked," Minerva points out flatly. "Your logic is truly impeccable."

Desmond lobs his shoe at her. It misses, though only barely. "It'll be fine – they're just kids, and besides, it would be really fucking weird if I went and beat four older and much bigger boys without breaking a sweat."

"You forget that I am not capable of such things," Minerva mutters uneasily, kicking his shoe back.

"You are capable of Eagle Vision though – you can avoid them. If they come to you, just let me know. I can handle them," Desmond says. "Preferably without getting any of them killed. But if it comes to it, I'll deal with it, alright?"

"Fine," she agrees, rubbing her fingers.

"You got hit again?" Desmond asks. Minerva had been put to another reading lesson, because her Latin and reading level was so advanced, so he hadn't been there to see.

"I refused to answer brother Ansaldo's question and when he insisted, the answer did not please him."

"What was he asking about?"

"What was Jesus's most important lesson," Minerva says, "Which we were meant to divine from the passage he'd just read. The answer should have been, in face of violence, one ought take the higher road and turn the other cheek. He misses the cultural importance of the act."

"... Which was?" Desmond asks.

"In those times, one would not use the left hand because it was for unclean practices – such as relieving yourself – and to hit with the open palm of the right hand is to issue a challenge that might be answered," Minerva says. "The lesson is one of using cultural preferences and the system in place to your advantage – to highlight the action of the offenders by making them face probable consequences. Not, as Brother Ansaldo says, to take the abuse humbly."

Desmond stares at her incredulously. "How do you even know about that?"

"Jesus was a holder of a Piece of Eden," Minerva explains.

Desmond shakes his head. "Well, of course he was," he sighs.

* * *

 

So yeah, their journey in academics begins just wonderfully, with Minerva getting weekly beatings due to her ongoing insolence and Desmond sneaking around getting into scuffles with their rich-boy-bullies. They learn to do their prayers, to eat the tasteless mush during mealtimes without complaint  and eventually even learn to move around in robes without tripping over themselves. Minerva even learns to keep her opinions to herself, eventually, but it's obvious to everyone with eyes how she _stews_ in them. Somehow, miraculously, they manage to pass for normal, intelligent but otherwise not very remarkable, boys.

Four months in, deciding he's been there long enough, Desmond approaches one of the monks who sports a close stubble haircut instead of the more common tonsure and asks the man if he might cut his hair in a similar way.

"I want to show dedication, but – I don't think I will become a monk, so… I thought it was a good compromise," Desmond says demurely, much to the man's obvious approval and pride.

So, finally, after about a year of living as Ludovico Orsi, Desmond regains a little something of himself. The long black tresses are thrown away and his hair is sheared closer to the scalp into something far more familiar and comfortable. Donato and the other popular boys make fun of him, of course, but Desmond doesn't give a single shit.

"What do you think?" he asks Minerva. "Does it suit Ludovico's face at all?"

"Doesn't matter," Minerva says. "It suits you "

"Aww, thanks, Minerva, that means a lot."

Minerva smiles a little and then inspects the haircut curiously, sinking her fingers into the buzz cut, ruffling through it. "I think your hair will always be black," she muses. "I didn't think to change the pigment-related genes. Everything else seems to be coming along nicely, though."

"... What?" Desmond asks flatly and she tugs at his ears lightly. Confused, Desmond goes to check them for damage. Nothing off there, his earlobes feel fine, dangling as per usual.

Except that both Ludovico and Checco inherited their mother's attached earlobes.

Minerva smiles, stroking his cheek. "Yes, this haircut suits you very well indeed."


	7. Chapter 7

The school is not fun precisely, but they get used to it. Minerva gets called out less, stays quiet more, but Checco Orsi soon becomes known as the undisputedly most intelligent boy in the school. Ludovico Orsi doesn't reach that level, but with enough beatings behind the garden shed, he too becomes known. Desmond doesn't cross mental swords with the teachers as much, though – he doesn't have as many _opinions_ about _things_. So, most people think he's just a henchman for his smarter brother. They're not entirely wrong either.

Still, they get used to it. They even make some friends – or, well, Desmond does anyway. There's a couple of boys in the school who aren't _entirely_ terrible or in Donato's thrall. The school is a sort of microcosm of local politics, it turns out. Donato is related to the Sforza, though distantly, and thus he thinks he owns the world. Totino is one of the sons of a less important family, allied to the Sforza, so he's basically Donato's lackey. Then there are other boys, like Plinio Martinelli who, rumours had it, was a bastard son of the Ordelaffi and because of that Donato didn't dare to bully him much… and so forth. Granted, there are kids there who aren't nobles, just sons of rich merchants or officials, but still.

And Minerva and Desmond have the dubious pleasure of being in the lower rungs of that political ladder because, though Orsi family was still small and relatively unknown, their _father_ had a reputation, and so did the family he came from, the Deddi. Being distantly related to some minor nobility is bad enough, but disgraced nobility who somehow got the dispensation to start his own family? Horrible, just horrible.

Politics, but with prepubescent boys. School is such _fun_.

What's most fun, though, is getting the hell out of there – which, it being a very serious Catholic school, happens mostly during the most important holidays. And the one Desmond finds himself waiting the most is Lent. Their school doesn't do summer holidays, that would be ludicrous, what even is that – but it does do the Lent holiday. From Ash Wednesday to Easter Sunday, six week break from the hell that is the convent. _Bliss_.

"You know, something I did not think I'd have to ever think about? School holidays," Desmond muses while he and Minerva clear out their cells in preparation for the break from the place. "School holidays! Did you know, I never went to school? Not proper one. Home schooled, like all Assassins of the Farm."

"I don't know what Farm you refer to, but it sounds… like something," Minerva says, frowning. She's been trying her hand at polite conversation – basically chit chat – lately, and it's not going very well.

"You don't know about the place I grew up in? I thought you knew _everything_ about me," Desmond says, snorting. "You _made_ me."

"I made you, I did not raise you," Minerva says with a sigh. "That, to my infinite regret, was left up to humans."

Desmond frowns a little and finishes folding the corners of his bedding – something they've gotten increasingly good at, because the monks had _opinions_ about neatness. Not cleanliness, because it's the Renaissance and who cares about a bit of body odour, but God forbid you leave your bed unmade.

"We had a commune," he says. "In the middle of nowhere, South Dakota. Actually, that probably doesn't say much to you – anyway, small commune. Because of the Templars, we couldn't go out much, so… I was raised in hiding."

"And that differs from our lives now, how?"

"Well… it doesn't, just – it's different from lives of other kids during those times. Most humans go to school, go out, have fun – actually, how much do you know about the level of society and stuff from the time I come from?" Desmond asks curiously. Minerva doesn't know anything, that much he knows – she doesn't know about media or some of the sciences and the fact that she knew _nothing_ about animal domestication… well, that's a huge enormous swathe of history she's missed out on.

"I know humans multiplied beyond our original designs," Minerva says. "And your technology was in the state of quick advancement. You had just begun studying genetics, unearthing genetic memory – but our technology was still a mystery."

"Hmm. Yeah, well," Desmond says, stretching. "We had a pretty universal education system, most people everywhere could read, write, so on. With internet, everything was becoming interconnected, so, information sharing and stuff was easier. Basically, people were learning more, faster – pretty normal to spend ten to twenty, even thirty years in school, for people in my time. Except I didn't. Where most everyone got systematic education, I got training to be an Assassin."

"And therefore you know little about how schools actually work," Minerva says and gives him a look. "And yet you profess yourself to be an _expert_."

Desmond snorts and throws his pillow at her. "I still know more than _you_ ," he says. "I'm just saying – school holidays. Not something I was expecting to have to ever think about. It's just – funny to me."

Minerva hefts the pillow in her hand. "They are a cause for celebration and relief," she comments.

"Freedom from teachers and other students and _studies_ ," Desmond agrees.

"We're still expected to keep with our reading and prayers."

"Well. If you don't tell them, I won't either," Desmond grins.

Minerva throws the pillow back – hard enough that it hits Desmond right on with a _thwack_ of feathery linen. Desmond lets out a cough and catches the pillow as it falls from his face. "Not appropriate physical comeback time," he comments. "You're supposed to throw stuff at me when I'm being smug or annoying in a particular annoying-sibling way, not when I'm making a perfectly agreeable joke."

"I suppose I need more practice," Minerva says calmly and holds out her hand. "Give me the pillow back, I'll try again."

"After you hit me on the face? No way!"

Minerva is still too much of an Isu to try and wrestle the pillow from him – she just lets it go with a shrug. But she's getting there, bless her fake-divine soul.

* * *

 

Their mother comes to pick them up. It's been some time since they saw her last – which was during Ordinary Time. Gessica is still staying in the Imola villa with no intention of leaving anytime soon, it seems, and she's gotten into the swing of entertaining the ladies of Imola and nearby villages of Romagna – she is practically shining when she enters the convent, with Clara the maid at her side and bounce in her steps.

"Have you been good, my sons?" she asks, ruffling her fingers through Desmond's short hair and pulling Minerva to a quick hug. "Oh, my how you've grown! I can't wait to hear all about your time here."

Desmond can't still quite figure out whether she is a good mother or not. She loves them, that much is obvious, and she's caring and motherly when she's around. But at the same time she is very willing to not be around either – spending months travelling first and then sending them away to a school like she did? It has the hint of _good intentions_ to it, but at the same time…

But it's always lovely to see her, anyway, even if holding her attention is kind of like chasing clouds at times. Even Minerva seems to like her – or at least she dislikes Gessica less than she dislikes most other humans. Gessica is rarely in anything other than good mood, and it is infectious.

Desmond thinks her sort of deliberate _absence_ in their life isn't so much neglect or carelessness as it is habit. She has a quality to her that makes Desmond wonder if she was the oldest girl of her family, with absentee parents, made to watch after the younger siblings. Like, she loves them, obviously, and wants the best for them – but she also has this expectation that she isn't supposed to be with them? Or them with her?

Renaissance nobility and childrearing, man. It's all nannies and servants.

"It's good to see you in such a good mood, mother," Desmond says.

"I am in the very best of moods, for not only am I seeing my wonderful sons after weeks on no end – but your father is home!" Gessica says and squeezes them excitedly. "Isn't it lovely? We shall spend the whole of Lent together!"

"Oh? That's – great?" Desmond says, casting a glance at Minerva, who looks equally surprised.

"I thought father was very busy in Bologna?" Minerva says slowly.

"Oh, he is, but it's been far too long since he's taken a break and I finally managed to persuade him that it was about time he did," Gessica says and sighs, setting her hand on her cheek. "And there are those ghastly rumours too – ugh, just terrible. But," she says quickly, obviously changing the subject, "We shall not think about the rumours – we shall think about family. Get your things, boys, it's time we head home."

Desmond and Minerva look at each other, and then hurry to get their things. Their father is still more of an abstract concept to them than an actual living person – and after all the rumours and insults and insinuations from the boys at the convent… they've become pretty curious about Andrea detto l'Orso and what kind of man he might be. Disgraced son of a semi-nobility? Hmm.

The way from the outskirts of Forli to the countryside of Imola has never seemed longer. Desmond tries to enjoy the cool March breeze. It's a cloudy day, not particularly beautiful, but so far it doesn't look like it's going to rain anyway, and it does little to make the countryside less beautiful.

Desmond is _never_ going to get tired of living in this time. It's just the lack of expendable modern crap – everything seems so much cleaner and more _intentional_ in a way. Everything takes more effort to build here, so little is built _just because_. Not that he doesn't miss electricity and running water of 21st century – fetching water from the well every morning at the convent is never not going to be a nuisance – but still. If there was ever a period Desmond would've wanted to live in, it would be this one.

And then, eventually, after seemingly years on the road, there's the villa, its stone walls and vine trellis, the leaves a little withered after winter but with new shoots starting to wind around the lattice. There's a new carriage by the stable, new horses being attended to by Vaccaro and there's a new servant – a manservant – waiting for them by the door.

"Boys, this is Graziano Portelli, he is your father's assistant," Gessica introduces the man, who nods mutely at them. "Graziano, Clara, can you take Checco's and Ludovico's things to their rooms? Thank you dears –"

Desmond and Minerva stick close to their mother's side, curious enough to burst, as she marches inside, smiling brightly and then calling in lilting voice, "My love, we are home! Come and say hello to your sons, come see how much they have grown!"

Andrea detto l'Orso is both nothing like Desmond imagined, but also a lot like his name. Old Bear, some of the boys at the convent had called him – and the old freak too, for which some of them had gotten to feel Desmond's wrath – so the… bearish part is kind of expected. But at the same time…

Andrea detto l'Orso is a huge man, taller than Desmond used to be and much wider around the shoulders. With thick salt and pepper hair and beard, he really looks a lot like a bear, a very intimidating looking bear. He's even wearing a cloak with furs and everything, which doesn't make him any less bear-like.

"My sons!" the big old man bellows in a deep voice and then grabs both of them into a single hug, one arm around Desmond and other around Minerva, squeezing the air out of them both. "Oh, I have missed you both! Look how heavy you've gotten!"

And then he swings them around like they don't weigh anything – and Desmond has been growing a lot lately, he knows he weighs _something_. Minerva lets out a sort of squeak of surprise and then goes stiff as a board while Andrea lets out a deep, rolling laughter and then hauls them with him to the sitting room.

The guy is not at all like what Desmond expected him to be. He's also obviously expecting them to be younger, because he sits both of them on his knees like they're still toddlers, which is a little embarrassing and a lot endearing.

"Your mother has been telling me all about your schooling!" the Old Bear says, approvingly. "You must tell me everything. It's a proper school, yes, they teach you well?"

"Er," Desmond answers. Considering the times… "Yes, it – is?"

"Hrmh?" Andrea asks, casing him a look which is surprisingly sharp and demanding.

Desmond quickly searches for something Ludovico might complain about without seeming too much like a brat. "Well, there aren't any sword lessons," he says quickly. "And the brothers don't like seeing students fight, so… even toy swords aren't allowed."

The Old Bear considers that. "Well, convents," he says. "We shall make sure you will have sword lessons at home, with a proper teacher. And you, Checco? Anything to say?"

"No – nothing," Minerva says, looking vaguely alarmed.

" _Hrmh_?" Andrea demands, aiming his keen, dark eyes on her.

"Um – I – it is a little tiresome to be praying all the time," Minerva says, taken aback by the searching look she's receiving. "And they won't let me read whatever I want – at home I can and – I miss it?"

She looks at Desmond, seeming little at loss.

"I'm sure they only want you to read things in order, dear, so that you will understand all the material," Gessica offers.

"But they insist I take time – that I should read the same books for days on end, when I finish them in one night," Minerva says, quietly. "Everyone takes so long."

Andrea looks at Minerva interestedly at that, before casting a searching look at his much younger wife.

"Checco _is_ a genius," Desmond comments. "Of course it's all boring for him."

"Yes," Andrea muses, thoughtful look on his face. "I have heard you read very well, and ahead of yours peers. Even Father Octavian wrote well about you," he considers Minerva for a moment. "Tell me, what kind of lessons do they offer at the convent?"

Andrea detto l'Orso is not at all like what they expected. He's big and loud and on the edge of being _boisterous,_ but there's a sharpness about him that's just barely hidden beneath the surface of being… well, big, loud and boisterous. And whatever it was about him that made people call him a freak, Desmond isn't sure he can see it.

The guy might not be much of a father, but he is obviously keenly interested in his son's academic success at least – and, once he's done drilling them on what they're being taught at the convent, Desmond and Minerva get to see their parents interacting for the first time. Andrea must be at least thirty, if not _forty_ years older than his wife, but it's obvious that he cares about her – and Gessica, bless her easily distracted push-over heart, loves her husband without hesitation.

It clears away some of Desmond's lingering concerns about their mother, anyway – the times being what they are, loveless marriage wasn't beyond question, after all. But it also raises some more. Andrea is not a cold or aloof man, the opposite of it, really. So what on Earth is going on with this family – and how did it end up producing two boys like Ludovico and Checco, who would've in normal conditions grown up to be a pair of sociopaths?

* * *

 

Their first day as a family spending the Lent time together is a bit… awkward. Desmond and Minerva don't quite know how to deal with Andrea, who is in turn welcomingly animated and then suddenly still and _extremely_ keen, like zoom going back and forth between two extreme settings. There's a cunning to the man, a sharpness, which is almost _alarming_ at times.

It's just – a little unsettling and hard to get used to.

Sneaking around the villa that day, Desmond finds some papers their father had brought with him. After making damn sure no one is about to catch him, he spends time reading them – or as much as he can understand of them. Considering what Checco and Ludovico became, it isn't completely beyond the realm of possibility that Andrea might have ties to the Templars…

But no. Andrea detto l'Orso is a tax collector. He is, in fact, _the_ tax collector of Bologna, working for the signoria and writing long and gruelling reports for various families, merchants and such in _extreme_ detail. In fact, in almost obsessive detail.

Turns out, their dad runs Renaissance equivalent of the IRS, investigating people for tax fraud, smuggling and whatnot. It's… not precisely what Desmond had expected, but maybe it's high time he stops having expectations for this family – none of them seem to come into fruition. Still. A _tax collector_ named the Old Bear.

No wonder all the boys at school seem to have an acquired distaste for Andrea detto l'Orso – the guy looks to be a nuisance for various rich folks in and around Bologna.

"I have no idea what to do with this information," Desmond says later to Minerva. "Like, is this useful to us? Our father is rich, and probably influential, but in Bologna? That's got nothing to do with Ezio and the Apple, Assassins or Templars…"

"That we know of, anyway," Minerva says, not looking up from her lap. Her dog – no longer a puppy – is lying on her back across Minerva's folded legs, legs sticking up and tongue lolling out as Minerva gives her belly scratches. "But it makes sense. If he _was_ involved, then you would know more."

Desmond hums, laying back on her bed with his arms crossed behind his neck. "He seems to be a fair tax collector… investigator… person. Whatever he is," he says and blows out a breath. "Wonder how he got kicked out of the Deddi family. By investigating them?"

Minerva shrugs, obviously not caring all too much now that their father had been proven to be a non-entity in the plot for the future and for the Pieces of Eden. "Working for the signoria of Bologna might mean he has enemies," she muses, idly tugging at the dog's paws and pressing her thumb against the pads. "Ones we might need to be on the lookout for."

"Hmm," Desmond agrees and turns to look at the dog. "She's grown."

"We're growing too," Minerva agrees.

"Well, I am, anyway. You're still like… pint-sized," Desmond comments, eying her. "Did you mess about with your own genetics? Or, with Checco's?"

"In a manner of speaking," Minerva agrees.

"Will he grow up looking like… well… you?"

"No," Minerva admits, glancing up. "I could not introduce pure Isu genetic code into his body without causing life threatening mutations. There is a reason why I went the long way with you, through generations rather than instant alterations. It was safer."

"Uhhuh," Desmond agrees. "So? What did you do to your host, then?"

Minerva doesn't answer immediately, playing with her dog's paws a moment longer and then clearing her throat. "I used the best version of Isu genetics that can survive in a human body," she says.

Desmond arches his brows.

"With enough variations for clear differences," Minerva assures.

Desmond arches his brows even higher. "You are being annoying and I will hit you with something. Just tell me." He grabs hold of the nearest pillow and shakes it as a threat.

Minerva sighs and rolls her eyes. "Obviously, I used your genetics," Minerva says. "They _are_ the most stable."

Desmond considers her and then hefts the pillow for a blow. "Which means what? Because if Checco is now somehow the son of Desmond Miles and _you didn't tell me_ , I am going to take this pillow and smother you with. And I am going to enjoy it a whole bunch."

" _Really_ now," Minerva says. "More of a fraternal twin, really."

Desmond considers that, rolling the concept in his head. "So, you're my brother."

"Yes," Minerva says, rolling her eyes. "Obviously. Sometimes you are so slow on the uptake, I really don't know where I went wrong with you."

Desmond eyes her and then gets up. "Yep, I am going to smother you," he decides. "Come here, you, I'm gonna –"

Minerva lets out a shriek, fighting back with hands and feet and that's how their parents find them, with Desmond trying to playfully smother Minerva with a pillow while the poor still-nameless dog jumps on the bed beside them, barking loudly.

For a moment, their parents look at them, scared – for a moment they look at Desmond, and they look _scared_. Desmond freezes in panic – they were just playing, he rough-houses with Minerva all the time trying to stop her being so damn stiff – it can't look like – he wouldn't – surely even the actual Ludovico wouldn't –

And then Minerva takes the opportunity to flip him, tackle him, and smother him in turn. "That is what you get for attacking a superior being such as I – I win!" she crowds and then notices their parents, and she too goes very still. "Um," she says, startled, and drops the pillow as if it burns – right on Desmond's face. "I'm sorry –"

Desmond knocks the pillow aside just in time to see Gessica blowing out a breath, sagging with relief, while Andrea throws his head back and laughs. It's like some switch being thrown, or a spring, previously pulled taunt, being released.

It's the _thing that no one speaks about_ , which hasn't been mentioned since they went to school… no longer being a thing.

Desmond releases a breath and looks at Minerva. Minerva looks back, and it's obvious she feels it too. She grins, sudden and confused and relieved all at once, and Desmond grins back.

Then he flips her off him and into the bed, because what kind of big brother is gonna let their little brother beat them as easily as that? Honestly.

**Author's Note:**

> Alternate summary, "In which Desmond wants to throw a shoe at Minerva and soon misses being the only child".
> 
> Proooobably gonna have ships. Pre-emptively made this m/m because that at least is guaranteed.


End file.
